


In Another World

by itwasprongs



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Muggle, Alternate Universe - Paris, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Death, F/M, Healing, Marauders' Era, Phone Store, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Valentine's Day, jily
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-03-12 22:12:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3357143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itwasprongs/pseuds/itwasprongs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles in which I write about dead fictional people in various scenarios.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Burning Desire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe James had accidentally set off three alarms at midnight in the past two weeks, but that doesn't mean he deserves to be yelled at by the pretty red head from the floor below. [AU]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jily + 'sorry i set the fire alarm in our building off again for the forty-eighth time i was trying to cook' AU + muggle/uni au + some valentine's day fun

Okay, so it  _was_ him who set off the fire alarm at 3 in the morning because he was trying to make pancakes. And, yeah, it was also him who set off the fire alarm two days ago at midnight because he'd left a towel on his portable heater. Maybe - definitely - it was him who'd set off the security alarm at six am last week because he'd tried to break into his own flat because he'd left his keys in his car. But, James did not think that this warranted the tirade of anger that was currently being aimed at him by the cute red head who lived down the hall (Lily, he thought her name was). It wasn't as if he'd  _intentionally_ set off three alarms in the space of two weeks. It had just, sorta, happened. The cute red head, however, clearly disagreed and was apparently well versed in making people feel like they were two feet tall (rather than their usual, usually useful height of six feet and three inches).

"Can't you be a little more considerate? And, oh, I don't know,  _not_ try and make pancakes at  _three in the bloody morning_ when you know  _full well_  the fire alarm works because, oh yeah, it was  _you_ who set it off two days ago. I have a test tomorrow. A test on Organic Chemistry at  _nine_. In  _six_ hours! And now, thanks to you, I'm going to be tired for it." James wanted to ask if she was okay because she didn't seem to be breathing in between words but he figured that that probably wouldn't help the situation. So he kept his mouth shut. "You're unbelievable. Because of you, the rest of the building has to freeze their bollocks off and all you're doing is standing there looking like some gormless five year old!" To be honest, James was one of the people freezing his bollocks off but, again, he didn't say anything. "You haven't even apologized!" 

"I'm sorry!" He interrupted before she could say another word. He had apologized. To like five different people. Just not to her. "It was an accident. I really didn't mean to. I'm sorry." James was actually being sincere and apparently she could tell because the pretty red head nodded, crossed her arms and walked over to stand next to a blonde girl who was trying not to laugh. Even from five metres away James heard the pretty red head tell the blonde girl to shut up. 

"It's not funny Marls, I'm freezing my tits off."

"You realize you just spent five minutes yelling at the bloke you've fancied for five weeks. And you didn't even tell him your name." 

"Oh, shush. I don't fancy him I-"

"Yeah, yeah, find him aesthetically pleasing. Got it." The blonde girl looked over then and James hurriedly spun around so he wouldn't be caught eavesdropping. Which was a mistake because this brought him face to face with his three best mates. All of whom were wearing very big, very ominous grins. 

"So,"

"James,"

"Mr Potter,"

"Would you care to share with us,"

"How exactly you've managed to piss off one of the fittest girls in our building without even talking to her." They were finishing each others sentences and while it was hilarious when Sirius and James did it to Peter and Remus, James kind of wanted to punch them.

"Actually," Remus clapped Sirius on the shoulder, and began to imitate their old History professor, "I think we know exactly how our dear pal, James, dear dear James, managed to get under the skin of the very pretty Lily Evans. You see, Sirius, my buttercup, in the past two weeks James has set off three alarms and forced the entire building to congregate, very unwillingly,  _outside_ the building, in the freezing cold weather, very early in the morning."

"Ah yes, I remember now." Peter grinned and James narrowed his eyes at his friends because they were, all three, absolute bastards. 

"Clearly he's lacking in manners. Tsk tsk." In unison they shook their heads and the bespectacled boy scowled. It wasn't just that they were being total tossers, it was also that they were wearing several layers of clothing. They'd had the sense to snatch up some jumpers and shoes and, in Sirius' case, an embroidered silk dressing gown. James hadn't even known he owned one. He himself only had the protection of his boxer briefs. And if he had known that it was minus two degrees outside, he would've attempted to make pancakes with actual clothes on. At least this particular pair of underwear didn't have Andy Pandy on them. 

"It wasn't on purpose you twats." James tried to explain himself, to no avail. His mates weren't going to have any of it. 

"You see what Evans is wearing though?" Sirius asked slyly and James blushed. He really, honestly had tried his hardest  _not_ to notice but she was stunning. Legs that went on for miles, perky tits, a smile bright enough it had gotten the librarian to smile, hair like wine and, yeah, her arse was pretty fantastic too. Especially when all she was wearing was a large jumper and some boy shorts. He'd only looked for five seconds and then forced his eyes away but those five seconds had given him enough fantasies to last forever. 

"No." James' scowl deepened and Peter guffawed whilst Remus and Sirius raised very judgmental eyebrows. "Oh, stick it where it hurts, Black." James grumbled and all three of them burst into laughter. James tutted, looking around to see if anyone was paying them any attention. 

Lily was watching them but when she saw him looking, glared before turning to face the blonde she'd called Marls. 

"If his arse didn't look so good in those bloody briefs, I'd slap his teeth out." Lily muttered to her friend, refusing to look over her shoulder to check if the Potter boy was still looking. 

"No you wouldn't," Marlene rolled her eyes, "You fancy him too much to do that." Lily huffed and crossed her arms over her chest, trying not to admit to herself that Marlene, as usual, was correct. Potter lived in the hall below her and whilst it was annoying when he and his friends held all night parties or marathoned Lord of the Rings, he was admittedly very fit. She'd first seen him in freshers week when she'd bumped into him several times at various pubs. Then, thanks to them living in the same building, she'd often pass him on her way out or in. 

Undoubtedly, he wasn't hotter than his best mate, Sirius Black, but, nonetheless, Lily desperately wanted to snog him. Or shag him - on the details she wasn't so concerned. He seemed clever - he'd gotten into the same university as her after all - and was definitely funny. The fact that Lily found him extremely attractive was an added bonus. She wasn't quite sure if it was his riotous hair, thick glasses, structured jawline or the delicious curve of his arse that made him so handsome but it was definitely something. Whenever she saw him, the Arctic Monkeys  _and_ The Kooks started playing in her head. Lily wondered what it would be liked to shag him whilst  _Snap Out of It_ played in the background. 

"Alright everybody -" The hall master called out then and Lily was pulled out of her wildly inappropriate fantasy by the joyous news that they were allowed back inside. 

"Finally." She said as she and Marlene walked past Potter and his mates, not seeing the roll of James' eyes. Or where they went as she walked inside. 

 _Aesthetically pleasing_ , James mulled the words over in his head, absently listening to Sirius and Peter argue about whether or not Sirius needed beauty sleep. It was positive, definitely, but he much preferred what Marls had said - the blonde had said Evans had a crush on him. James wasn't one for jumping into things - unless 'things' constituted hastily and badly put together pranks which would surely end in disaster - yet he was certain that making out with Evans would be better than when his team won the final of the house cup at boarding school. And that win had been one of the best days of his life. 

Perhaps once every had thawed out and were no longer willing to stab him, he would see if Evans wanted to hang out. Yeah, James smiled to himself, that sounded like a good idea. 

* * *

It had been three days since the Third Alarm Debarcle and Lily was still slightly annoyed at the Potter bloke - in spite of his fantastic arse - because she'd gotten her test results back and, lo and behold, she'd gotten a good portion of the questions wrong. Sure, they were extension questions only meant for the second year students but Lily was meant to be able to do those. The fact that she was sitting in her onesie, alone in her room with only a Chemistry paper to keep her company on Valentine's Day just added insult to injury. 

So when a note slid under her door at midday addressed to "Evans", she was suitably unimpressed. 

_Evans,_

_I'm sorry about the alarm the other day. And the two before that. I swear to Merlin, Hades and every and all great deity that I did not mean to set any of them off. Especially the night before your test. (I hope you did well in that btw.) I don't know how to put this without sounding awfully and horrendously cliche but, I think it'd be pretty far out if we could be mates. (Not too cliche, thank you 80s slang.) Or at least acquaintances. Remus says you're pretty cool and I make it a habit of mine to know cool people - especially if Remus thinks they're cool bc Remus is a p good judge of character. Also very hard to impress so congrats on that one. Anyway that's all I really wanted to say. OH, and if you do want to be friends (or mates or people who nod at each other in the hall and say "alright?") then the lads and I are having a small party tonight in our hall. Bring whoever you want. Alcohol and rad music will be provided. No food tho bc last time that happened we had a food fight and tbh it didn't end very well._

_Yours (unless you don't want to be my friend/acquaintance/person who nods at me in the hall and says "alright?" in which case I will back off),_

_James Potter (aka known as the tosser who burns everything he cooks)_

His handwriting was awful, he didn't seem to know that paragraphs existed and he used proper grammar whilst simultaneously using chat speak. It was ridiculous. But also really fucking adorable. Lily sighed and read the note again, eyes skipping over crossed out words and the little doodle he'd left unfinished in the corner of a smashed fire alarm. 

"Bollocks." She said and promptly dropped her head onto her desk. 

James had decided that a note was the best way to go about it. That meant he didn't have to actively seek her out and risk her thinking he was a stalker. However, it did mean he had to persuade the hall master to tell him her room number. Which could also give the impression that he was a stalker, if taken without context. Luckily though no police had turned up on his doorstep since he'd slipped the note under her door and then sprinted down the corridor before she had a chance to see who had done it. 

All he had to do now was to wait and see if she accepted his apology note and turned up. Which would've been easier if he hadn't had Sirius mocking him incessantly as they set up the stereo system on James' desk. An hour of that followed by four hours of all three of his so called best mates teasing him and James was ready just to call off the whole party. Except the minute he suggested that, Peter got everyone to shut up and they were able to continue typing balloons into dick shapes in peace. (The circus classes his mum had paid for them all to go to over the easter holidays of fourth year paid off in the most awesomest of ways.)

* * *

 

"You ready?" Marlene asked as they walked down the stairs to the lower hall. Somehow James had forgotten to mention a time so the two had just waited until they'd heard thumping music and then left fifteen minutes later. 

"It's just a party Marlene."

"You're wearing your 'fuck me' heels and your lipstick is redder than your hair; clearly  _someone_  is going to get lucky tonight." Marlene nudged her shoulder and Lily smirked, conceding.

"It's not like you haven't made an effort either, little miss push up bra." Pointedly, Lily stared at Marlene's cleavage which usually wasn't so obvious. 

"At least I'm not bringing a gift for the host." It was a much better comeback than her own and Lily blushed, trying to make the present less conspicuous. That was easier said than done though, considering the only wrapping paper she'd had left was a roll covered in naked Santa Claus'. If she'd wanted to spend any more than £5 on the gift then she would've purchased a new, plain roll of paper but the present itself had cost three quid and ninety nine pence and damn if she wasn't going to buy a hot chocolate whilst she was out as well. (Not that she had actually dressed and left her room specifically to go and buy a gift for Potter.)

"You're such a prick." Lily informed her friend, unable to think of a better response.

By the time they'd maneuvered their way through the crowd of people in the hall and to where the beverage table was, Lily had spotted Potter at the other end of the corridor, having some sort of dance off with a very drunken Sirius. The latter, despite being completely smashed from the looks of it, was still able to look utterly flawless as he performed what seemed to be a sensual pole dance, minus the pole. James, on the other hand, seemed a lot more sober but was completely crucifying the moon walk. Lily wanted to wade in and save him from himself but she knew if Marlene saw her going up to Potter before she'd even had a few shots, she'd well and truly be in the shit. So she decided to tuck his present under her arm, down some neat vodka and let Potter ruin a few other timeless dance moves before finding him. 

"Hey! Evans! You came!" He found her before she had a chance to find him though and, in the time it took for her to say hi, he was lifting her off the floor and spinning her around. When he set her down he grinned and lent against the wall with his shoulder, running a hand through his hair.  _Lord of fucking shit,_ Lily thought,  _could he get any more shaggable._ The answer was yes, she realised when his tongue flicked out and licked his upper lip. 

"Some people just say hi you know, Potter." She said, raising her voice so he could hear her over the pounding of  _Uptown Funk_. 

"Huh?" He yelled, cupping a hand around his ear. Lily rolled her eyes but obligingly stepped closer and yelled again. That time he heard her and he smirked, shrugging. "I'm not completely sober, to tell the truth, and I love hugging people."

"I can tell." 

"You got my note then?"

"Yeah... I think it'd be pretty far out if we were friends too." She smiled up at him and he laughed and let out a whoop.

"That's brilliant. I've wanted to speak to you since I saw you in freshers week at that bar at the bottom of the hill."

"The one with the pig on the roof?"

"That's the one."

"Is it lame if I say ditto?" Lily bit her lip.

"Not at all. I actually think it's pretty groovy." James gave her an exaggerated wink and Lily laughed, trying to think when was the last time a bloke had really made her smile. Excluding Remus and her dad, definitely not in a while. 

"I got you something by the way-" She brought the present out from beneath her arm and handed it to him. James' face lit up in apparent ecstasy and her grin grew. 

"Evans, you amazing human person. This is wonderful!"

"You haven't even opened it yet!" She argued, wondering when they had gotten this close. Had her hips really been brushing his thighs a minute ago? Surely not. 

"Whatever. I'm sure it's fantastic." James grinned down at her and for a second Lily considered just knotting her hands in his hair, tugging him down and snogging the living daylights out of him. "Hey," he interrupted her thoughts before she could act on them and she kind of wanted to kick him for it. "If I kissed you would you totally be against that? Or is that like, something you might be interested in -"

Lily didn't let him finish his sentence. Instead she stepped forwards, grabbed the collar of his stupidly pink shirt, rose onto her tiptoes and kissed him. And yeah he'd set three alarms off in the space of two weeks and they'd only had about three conversations and she didn't even know what he was reading or if they even had anything in common but, right now, in that moment, she didn't give a single flying shit. 

James had been right. Kissing Evans  _was_ better than winning that match and maybe they were both a little bit tipsy and he wasn't sure if her hair was red like wine or blood or if she still hated him for setting off three alarms at ungodly hours but James wasn't really that bothered. Tangling his hands in her hair and feeling her body press his up against the wall with  _R U Mine?_  playing in the background was better than anything he'd ever felt before and fuck it, if he wasn't going to spend the rest of his future Valentine's without her.

* * *

Drunk sex, according to Marlene, was not meant to be mind-blowing. It was meant to be quick and furious and great sure, but not this-is-the-sex-I-want-for-the-rest-of-my-life-good. It was clear to Lily then, that Marlene had never had sex with a tipsy James Potter. Lily hadn't even had sex with a tipsy James Potter and she was still sure she wanted it to be him who shagged her for the rest of her life because if fucking him was anything like his foreplay... Lily smiled to herself and softly traced the strong line of his jaw. 

He mumbled in his sleep and blearily opened his eyes, yawn turning into a smile when his eyes landed on her face. 

"Mornin'" His voice was deep and husky and Lily felt goosebumps rise on her bare arms at the sound of it. 

"Hiya." She breathed into his neck, smiling in contentment as he wrapped his arms more tightly around her waist. 

"I'm guessing this makes us friends then." James spoke into her hair, drawing slow circles on her back. 

"Nah. I'm just gonna nod at you when we pass in the corridor and ask 'alright?'"

"I see how it is." James smirked and immediately began to tickle her, hands moving swiftly up and down her sides as Lily wriggled and giggled, choking on a snort. 

"Stop!" She squealed, kicking his shin in an attempt to get him to lay off. She was laughing so much she was struggling to breath and, admittedly, the feel of his warm hands on her was kinda making her a little horny. 

"Only if you say we're friends!" James continued relentlessly, chuckling as she squirmed. 

"I'd say we're more than friends, you plonker." She managed to breathe out as she writhed, tangling herself in the sheets. That was enough for James and he stopped, once again wrapping her up in his arms. Lily huffed and elbowed him gently in the stomach as she snuggled further into the shape of his body. 

"Thanks for the present by the way." James had unwrapped it at some point last night, in between her screaming his name with his head between her thighs and him clenching his fists as she expertly wrapped her hand around him, and now it lay on his beside table, opened at where she'd written a note on one of the pages. 

"I figured you might need it." The book was entitled  _39 Ways to Make Pancakes (and other breakfast foods)_ and on the dedication page she'd quickly scrawled a message to him:

_Potter,_

_If you ever set the alarm off at three am again (or between the hours of 8pm and 10am), I will gladly separate your probably minuscule penis from your body, in the hope that your engorged head will be able to balance better on your shoulders in the knowledge you will never create any offspring with your intense stupidity._

_Yours (ready with a knife if you ever set off an alarm again),_

_Lily Evans (aka the most fittest woman ever to grace your presence)_

He'd laughed when he'd read it and Lily was glad that it had made him smile because, really, his smile was amazing. 

"You want to correct your note now, Evans? Maybe change minuscule for a more suitable adjective?" He suggested it as his hand was tracing its way between her thighs and, really, it wasn't like minuscule  _was_  the correct adjective anyway so if Lily  _did_ change her note, just slightly, it wasn't like it was her fault or meant that she actually really did fancy him. Even though she did. 


	2. The Genius Bar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "you work at the phone store and I keep purposely messing up settings on my phone so I can come in and talk to you au"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fulfillment of a prompt from lilypxtter over on tumblr. "you work at the phone store and I keep purposely messing up settings on my phone so I can come in and talk to you au". this one involves me pretending to have actually entered an apple shop at some point in my life. btw, sirius and james take the whole “genius” part of the genius bar very seriously.
> 
> [please excuse the missing peter, also any mistakes, this was written in a rush!]

Walking into the Apple shop for the ninth time in three weeks, Lily couldn’t quite bring herself to be embarrassed. Not even when the security guard waved at her, obviously in recognition. This time she had  _actually_ broken her phone, so an excuse wasn’t necessary. Though it was unlikely she’d be telling the extremely cute assistant exactly why her iPhone 5S was so badly cracked. Not like he needed to know about shitty ex-best friends who ring her up at four in the morning to tell her what they think of her. No, Lily sighed, she wouldn’t be telling the extremely cute assistant that. 

She weaved her way through the display stands and over to the Genius Bar, slipping into the same seat she’d occupied the last three times. A quick glance up and down told her he wasn’t there. Which was weird since she knew his afternoon shift on a Saturday was from 2-5. Lily told herself it wasn’t weird to know that, after all, he had willingly shared the information with her. She sighed again and pulled her phone out, holding the lock button down to see if it would turn on. Nothing. 

“Evans!” Lily’s head shot up and she grinned as she saw Sirius walking towards her. He was the extremely cute assistant guy’s best friend and although he wasn’t who she wanted to see, where Sirius was, James was sure to turn up sooner or later.

“Hey, you okay?” She asked as he leant across the bar, elbows resting easily on the glass top. He was smiling languidly, as he seemed to do everything, no glance spared towards the group of giggling fifteen year old girls who were staring openly at him. 

“Yeah I’m good. Bored as all fuck, but what can ya do.” He shrugged. “What’s wrong this time then? Accidentally reversed the colours and can’t  _for the life of me_ figure out how to turn it back to normal?” He was imitating her and she kind of wanted to punch him because it was scarily accurate. 

“I’ll report you to your boss.”

“Nah, you wouldn’t dream of it. Because then I’d get fired and James would quit and then who would you go to to get your phone fixed?” Sirius winked and Lily rolled her eyes, also hating how scarily accurate  _that_ was. It had taken three visits for Sirius to guess why she kept coming back with increasingly lame excuses about her phone. 

“Where is the loser?” 

“Bored of my company already, thanks Evans, I’m wounded.” Lily shoved his elbow out from beneath him and he only just managed to catch himself before his cheek smacked into the counter. “Shit, Evans.” He glared at her, tapping the card slung around his neck. “That’s abuse towards an employee-”

“Remus, thank god!” She perked up in the stool, smiling at the tall boy who’d just finished with a customer. Sirius looked over his shoulder, settling his elbows back onto the counter, and rolled his eyes. 

“You’re not meant to be at the Genius bar, Moony, you’re not a Genius.” 

“I got 5% higher thank you in our Maths GCSE. Hey, Lily.” Remus joined them at the end of the Bar and smiled at Lily. Sirius scowled at him. 

“Nobody cares about GCSE’s. Also I beat you in every single A-Level.” 

“How are you Remus?” Lily asked, ignoring Sirius as he muttered about ‘bloody pretentious mathematicians’. 

“Not James so you probably don’t care that much.” Remus grinned and dodged the hand Lily raised to cuff his shoulder. She was blushing and Sirius was grinning again and  _really_ she hated how obvious it was that she fancied James. Obvious to everyone  _but_ James it seemed. 

"I do care, you smartarse.”

“James is on the phone to his mum. He’ll be out in a second.” Remus smiled at her and Lily pushed some hair behind her ear, ignoring the shared look that went between Sirius and Remus. “What excuse have you thought up this time?”

“Don’t need one.” She nudged her phone forwards on the counter and Remus’ eyebrows shot up. Sirius smirked. 

“You’re putting far too much effort in to this you know. He’s not worth that much.” The screen was completely smashed. A web of cracks ran across the black screen and parts of the glass had fallen out around the button, revealing black plastic and gold wire. Even the back was obliterated. 

“I didn’t do it on purpose.”

“No shit….” Remus gingerly picked it up and turned it over in his hands. Sirius straightened up to get a better look at it. “I’m no Genius but this looks fucking buggered to me.”

Sirius took the phone from him. “I  _am_ a Genius and I can confirm my non-Genius companion’s conclusion.” Sirius handed Lily the phone back as Remus knocked his shoulder. 

“What happened?” Remus asked.

“I dropped it.” Lily answered, biting her lip.

“Off a cliff?” Sirius scoffed but before Lily could make a retort, James had appeared and she was suddenly sitting a little straighter. Okay, so maybe it wasn’t surprising that it was so obvious. 

“Evans, hey!” He greeted, spotting them almost immediately and making a beeline for them. Sirius rolled his eyes. 

“Hey, James.” Lily smiled. “Back again.” 

“What did you do this time?” He was completely ignoring his mates, both of whom were now standing behind him and making extremely rude gestures with their hands. 

“Dropped it.” She handed him the phone, loving the spark that rushed through her hand when their fingers brushed. 

“Off a cliff?” Echoing Sirius, James scrunched his nose up, nudging his glasses higher, and smirked at her. Lily felt butterflies in her stomach. 

“Something like that. Can you fix it?” She asked, letting her eyes drift over his jawline and the way the blue Genius shirt made his arms look extra touchable.

“This isn’t as easy as a deleted app.” He glanced up at her, smiling, and Lily was grateful that Sirius and Remus had tired of rude hand gestures and returned to actually working, because she blushed even more. It was hard to think up excuses that would require a conversation longer than two minutes. 

“Do I need a new one?” This was the bit she hadn’t been looking forwards to. A new phone was a hassle. 

“’Fraid so.” James ran a hand through his hair and frowned. “You got a warranty right? Or insurance?”

“Think so.” Lily shrugged. The phone had been a twenty first birthday gift from her parents, since they considered her too old to be using a Nokia. The irony was not lost on her.

“Lemme go see if I can make this easy for you. I’ll be right back.” Lily watched him go, enjoying the view that his arse in tight, black skinny jeans was. Down the Bar, Sirius winked at her. Ignoring him, Lily rested her chin on her hand and thought of all the ways in which she could kiss James. It was a good way to pass the time. That and thinking about running her fingers through his hurricane hit hair. 

It took him five minutes to return and in that time Sirius wiggled his eyebrows at her twice, Remus batted his eyelashes four times and she had managed to progress her kissing scene from the Apple shop to her bed. And they were no longer just kissing. 

“What’s the verdict, Potter?” She asked as he returned, looking grim.

“I’m afraid we’ve lost Merlin.” The first time she’d accidentally let slip that she’d named her phone, he’d laughed for three minutes straight, tears actually streaming from his eyes. When she’d explained it was because the phone was magic and could do anything, he’d laughed harder. “However,” James grinned, ”it won’t cost you a penny to get a replacement.”

Acting wobegone, Lily sighed. “Nothing will ever be able to replace Merlin.” James quirked an eyebrow.

“You sure?” He asked, waiting for her answering nod before pulling an identical phone from behind his back and handing it to her. 

“Ohmygod, you fucking saviour.” Lily snatched the phone from him and swiped right. It opened and she found the same apps she’d had on Merlin present. She looked up at James and he was smiling, almost guility. 

“Same apps, same settings.”

“You’re a genius.”

“That’s what I said on my business card.” James smirked and Lily laughed, biting her lip. He ran a hand through her hair. “This one’s a slightly better version though.” It looked identical to Lily.

“How so?”

“Check your contacts.” Lily bit her lip and pressed the icon, a grin spreading on her face as the app opened and she saw the only name listed: James Potter.

“I think I prefer this version.” She was blushing but it didn’t matter because he was grinning and running a hand through his hair and blushing too, just a little bit. 

“Next time you want to talk to me, text me rather than dropping your phone off a cliff.” James winked and behind him Lily saw Remus thrusting his hips in a very furious rhythm. She blushed.


	3. Subject of Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> high school jily au (except it's set in an english sixth form and focuses about 0.2% about the fact that they're in school, whoops)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fulfilled prompt from an anon on tumblr.
> 
> So I attended a lecture about Van Gogh’s letters the other night and since James Potter being very very arty is a major headcanon for me, the result was this. Probably not what you were expecting, sorry about that. I got carried away with artist!James. It’s set in English Sixth Form because I know nothing about the American High School System.

“Who?” Sirius asks, tipping his chair back and looking across to his best friend. James sighs and rolls his eyes.

“Do you pay attention to  _anyone_ outside your direct line of sight?” He asks and Sirius grins, quirking his eyebrows up.

“Not particularly. So, who is she?” 

Giving in to the fact that Sirius will retain his “popular” status despite his complete lack of social interaction, James tells him. “The fit red head bird, new this year. In Remus’ chemistry. Laughed at my pun about the nuns.” 

“She thinks you’re funny?” Sirius shakes his head. “She has an awful sense of humour.” James punches him in the arm and before they can continue their conversation, McGonagall has walked in and it takes her two seconds to inform Sirius that if he continues to swing on his chair, he’ll be in detention for the rest of the month. 

The next chance he has to talk to Sirius about it, James is able to point the subject of their conversation out to him. Sitting in the dining hall, Sirius swinging on his chair and trying to catch the grapes being thrown by Peter in his mouth, James jerks his arm out and whacks Sirius’ elbow.

“What the fuck, Potter?” Sirius lands his chair heavily on four legs and stares at James. 

“That’s her. With MacDonald. By the door.” He nods subtlety towards a table of four girls, all laughing, and Peter and Sirius both turn to look. James rolls his eyes, all hope of being subtle gone. 

“The redhead?” Sirius asks, popping a grape into his mouth.  

“Yeah.”

“What about her?” Peter asks, turning back around. 

“She’s the bird James wants to draw for his coursework.” Sirius smirks and turns back to face James. 

“You asked her yet?” Sirius rolls his eyes, answering Peter’s question before James has a chance. 

“Of course he hasn’t. He can talk to girls as well as Moony can sing. That is to say - really fucking badly.” Sirius grins at his own joke and James would smile if he didn’t resent the insult. Peter laughs though and that’s enough to make James scowl, because, really, his friends should be supportive. 

“I’m going to though.” He takes the last bite of his sandwich and wipes the back of his hand across his mouth. 

“Really, when?” Peter challenges.

James makes an instant decision. “Right now.” Pushing his chair back he stands and pulls a fiver from his pocket, throwing it down in front of his friends. “Fiver says she agrees.” If there’s a bet on it, he won’t be able to back out, no matter how much he tries to convince himself it’s a bad idea to approach someone he’s never spoken to before and ask if they’ll sit still for several hours whilst he paints them.

“Done.” Both Sirius and Peter throw fivers down and grin up at him, smugness on their faces. They think she’ll say no. They’re probably right. 

“See you on the other side lads.” James salutes them and then begins to walk across the dining hall, running an agitated hand through his hair. Yeah, she’s fucking gorgeous, but really, how hard can talking to a pretty girl be? Not like he’s ever messed up doing that before. 

“-and then I said that a cannibal was just someone who’s fed up with people and she pushed me in!” The redhead finishes whatever story she’s been telling and the other four girls laugh, Mary MacDonald choking on her drink. Tegan Jones slaps her on the back, hand stopping in midair when she spots James standing behind Marlene McKinnon. 

“Hey, Potter. What’s up?” McKinnon asks, tilting her head back to up look at him.

“Alright, loser?” He grins down at her and grips the back of her chair, leaning forwards slightly. “Thought I’d come over and find out what my main gals are up to.” McKinnon and Tegan laugh, Hannah lifts her hand and Mary rolls her eyes. It’s the usual response to whatever his greeting is. The new girl just smiles. Lily Evans, Remus had said her name was. Joined their sixth form a term late due to family complications. She’d been here two weeks and thanks to the phenomenal amount of work he’d been behind on, James hadn’t had a chance to say hi.

“Potter, this is Lily. Lily, Potter.” Hannah gestures between the two and Lily waves, smile soft and pretty. 

“In some, more civilised circles, I’m called James.”

“Potter it is then.” She grins at him and tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, her green green eyes meeting his. James wants to draw her so fucking badly. Instead of voicing this he chuckles and runs a hand through his hair, ignoring the raised eyebrow from McKinnon. 

“What did you really want Potter?” Tegan asks, sipping her drink. 

“Meet the new girl and then piss off?” Mary smirks and Hannah grins. Smug shits.

“Actually, the plan is, meet the new girl, ask if she’ll be the model for my art coursework and  _then_ piss off.” He says it in a rush, words tumbling out before he can change his mind. Marlene’s grin grows. Lily looks taken aback and James tries not to take this as a bad sign. 

“James, inappropriate.” Hannah rolls her eyes. 

“Not  _life_ modelling, for fucks sake,” James runs a hand through his hair, “I was just wondering if maybe you’d be alright sitting for me so I can paint you for my art coursework. You’re perfect for what I want to do.” 

Marlene coughs, hiding words, and Tegan snorts, hiding her large smile behind her hand. Luckily it seems Lily didn’t catch what was said either so James just continues to rub his hand over the back of his neck and hope she doesn’t turn tail and run.

“Pose for your drawing?” She asks.

“Yeah.”

“How long will it take?” Lily doesn’t seem to be rejecting the idea and, judging by the surprised look on Mary’s face, James isn’t the only one who wasn’t expecting any sort of interest to be shown. 

“An hour maybe? We can do it during lunch or after school, or if you have a free or something…”

“Sure.” Lily smiles. “I’m up for it.” She shrugs, looks around her friends, and then back up at him. “I’ve got a double free tomorrow after lunch. Can you do then?” James stares at her for a second before nodding.

“Great. Great, yeah that’s great. I’ll meet you here?”

“Sure.” 

“Great. Ta. See you all later.” James smiles at them all again and then turns and heads back towards his table, the giggling that erupts once he’s left making him grin. He accepts the fivers from his friends with little modesty.

* * *

The next day he stands awkwardly outside the dining hall, leaning against the wall with one shoulder, as he waits for her. The bell signalling the end of lunch had gone a second ago and students are spilling out of the dining hall, the lower years pushing and shoving and parting when any sixth formers appear. James’ eyes are on the door and when she walks out of them, accompanied by Mary, he uses his shoulder to push himself up, hoisting his bag higher on his shoulder.

Lily says goodbye to Marlene, who winks before she turns and leaves, and then crosses the crowd of year sevens and eights to him.

“Hey.”

“Alright?” He asks, smiling.

“Yeah, thanks, you?”

“I’m good, yeah. So, um, you okay sitting for me in the art department?” James runs a hand through his hair and when she nods they begin walking, feet carrying them towards the two story art block slightly detached from the main school building.

“What’s your art?” Lily asks, walking next to him.

“I’ve got to do a painting in the style of Van Gogh. Focus on colours and technique. Your hair and your eyes - well, they’re perfect for it.” He looks down at her, realising just how short she is, and she’s looking up at him, smiling. 

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Oh, shit, yeah, it is!” He runs a hand through his hair. “You’re beautiful.” Okay so it’s a compliment but it’s not something you say to anyone you’ve just met. He’s such a fucking idiot. Lily blushes, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, and looks down at the floor.

“Thanks.” The rest of the walk continues in, what James hopes is, comfortable silence and when they reach the art department he walks up the stairs to the sixth former’s studio first. It’s great up there, a special space for year 12 and 13 only with skylights and a large, open plan space. Canvasses and easels are stacked in the corner and two tables are covered in brushes and pencils and paints. It’s empty, thankfully, and James pulls a stool from the corner and places it in front of a stretch of white wall. 

“Do you mind?” He asks, nodding to the chair. Lily smiles and sits down, tucking her feet behind the stool’s legs and crossing her ankles. 

“So…” She starts as he grabs an easel and kicks the legs out, standing it up and making sure it’s in the right position. “What other subjects are you doing?” 

“I’m taking Art, Gov’ and Politics, English Lit & Lang and Psychology.” He picks up a canvas and props it on the easel, making sure the light is falling on it so that it won’t distort his view of her. “You?” James’ eyes flick up to look at Lily and she’s looking at him, almost thoughtfully. 

“History, Gov’ and Politics, Chemistry and Biology.” She laughs when James winces. “Science not your thing?”

“Chemistry used to give me nightmares.” He fakes a shudder and she laughs again, the smile brightening her face. James wants to grab a camera and take some pictures, capturing these moments. “Just scraped an A in my GCSE.” Lily arches a perfect eyebrow and James is suddenly extremely jealous because that’s one skill he’s never been able to master. 

“I imagine that must have made a real dent in your self esteem.” She says sarcastically. James shrugs, unabashed.

“It was more of a dent in Sirius’ esteem, if I’m honest. I beat him by a few marks. he was devastated.” James grabs a palette from the side and begins to heap paint onto it, grabbing reds and oranges and pinks and greens and blues and yellows.

Just as he’s filling a pot with water from the messy sink, she asks a question. “Is Sirius the fit one?” James swings around, water sloshing over the side of the jar. Lily looks amused.

“Fit one?” James splutters.

“Yeah. With the black hair and the jawline.” There’s no shame on her face as she asks and James resents Sirius’ good looks.

“Yeah. That’s Sirius. Absolute tosser.” He mutters, turning the tap off and setting the water pot next to the palette on another stool.

“And what’s he like when you’re not jealous of him?” Lily smirks, sitting up a little straighter.

“Still an absolute tosser.” James runs his fingers over the tips of several paintbrushes before selecting three and placing them onto the second stool too. “But my best mate.”

“How are we doing this then?” She rubs her hands together and then places them inwards on her thighs, looking expectantly at him. James hands itch for the camera.

“I’ll draw your outline and then paint you. Simple really. It will take a while but I’ll only need you to sit for me for about two hours or so.” James twirls the pencil between his fingers. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah.” Lily smiles. “I’ve always wanted to be painted.”

“I’m surprised no one’s offered before.” Flirting, James thinks, he can definitely sidetrack this conversation so that they’re flirting. Lily laughs.

“Well, get on with it before I change me mind.”

“Yes ma’am.” James grins, runs a hand through his hair and looks at her, studying her face. The sweep of her hair against her cheek, the arch of her eyebrows, the green of her eyes,  the almost indiscernible freckles on her nose, the tilt of her lips, the line of her jaw. Her beauty is incredible. James smiles and sets his pencil to the page.

For a while she’s silent and James loses himself in the drawing, not paying attention to the fact that Lily’s eyes remain on him. 

“Don’t you want to ask why I moved schools in the middle of my A-Levels?” 

“None of my business.” James stands back from the drawing. The canvas is A1 and he’s filled most of it with her. She’s sitting as she’s sitting now, hands folded in her lap. He’s made the line of her back straighter because she’d started slouching about two minutes in and he doesn’t think she’d appreciate him putting that in. "Unless you want to tell me.” The drawing is good, accurate, and James tucks the pencil behind his ear, looking at her.

She seems thoughtful. “Most people have asked.”

“Nosy bunch we’ve got here. Try an avoid Rita Skeeter. She’s a year 10 and gets slapped about twice a week for the shit she spreads.” 

“Thanks for the tip.” Lily smiles and tucks her hands beneath her legs, feet swinging back and forth. “Can I see?”

“It’s not finished yet.” 

“How long will the painting take?”

“A few hours. I’ll finish it over the weekend probably. I can do most of it from a reference picture.” James shrugs, runs a hand through his hair. 

“Style of Van Gogh?”

“Not really. Just his use of colours and shit.” They continue to talk as he begins to paint, Lily firing questions at him about art and James thinking that she’s testing him, waiting for him to slip up in his knowledge. He doesn’t let himself.

The bell rings to signal the end of fifth period and he looks at her but she makes no sign of moving, just carries on with asking him about O’Keefe. When she tires of questioning him she begins to talk about one of her own subjects; history. He listens carefully as she talks about how art makes monumental impacts within periods of time and regularly links back to some of the questions she asked him. 

James decides he loves listening to her voice. Filling the quiet room and always considering him. Painting her is the easiest thing he’s ever done. Layers of crimson and scarlet blend together until he perfects the wine that spills over her shoulders. Whites and pinks form the light colour of her skin, darker where the light creates a shadow across her jaw. It’s the eyes that are the hardest. They’re green green and James isn’t sure how to capture the energy that’s within them.

“Bell goes in five minutes.” James sighs when he looks at his watch and notices the time. “Better start packing up.”

“Do you need your reference picture?” Lily asks, not moving as he begins to wrap up the palettes to keep the paints fro going dry overnight. 

“Oh, shit, yeah, thanks.” He grabs the camera from the bookshelf it’s resting on and turns it on. “You don’t mind?” Lily laughs.

“I’ve let you paint me for practically two hours straight. A picture won’t hurt me.” She sits perfectly still and James raises the camera to his eye. He takes several pictures, moving around her and stepping forwards for detail. The whole time Lily looks directly at him, meeting his gaze through the lens.

“Thanks.” James lowers the camera and smiles at her. “These should be great.” She stands and silently helps him wash the brushes and pot, then tries to see the canvas. James turns the easel away from her before she can.

“I’ll show you when I’m done.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Potter.” Lily fixes him with a stern glare, smile on her lips, and then picks her bag up from the floor and hooks the strap over her shoulder. 

“Thank you. This was great.”

“Yeah, I really enjoyed it.” Her smile grows and she bites her lip. James takes a second to think something over then runs a hand through his hair. Lily giggles because there’s red and yellow and blue and green all over his hand and undoubtedly he’s just put some in his hair. Blushing, James pauses.

“Do you want to grab something to eat in town? I’ve got a car - I can drop you home after. If you don’t want to then it’s fine but you had an interesting point about Cleopatra and, really, well -”

“Yes.” Lily is grinning as she interrupts him and James smiles too. “I don’t have any essays to write. I’d love to get something to eat with you.”

“Brilliant.” He rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “That’s really bloody brilliant.” Lily laughs, sound filling the room, and rolls her eyes. 

“I knew artists were melodramatic but I didn’t realize they fell in love with their subjects so often.” 


	4. Necessary Information

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lily Evans has known Sirius Black for a little less than two weeks and heard hundreds of stories of James Potter. However, she's never actually met him. So when she bursts into Sirius' apartment to find a half-naked, half-asleep stranger she has no idea who he is. (She's also very mad at Sirius Black for not telling her anything, ever.)
> 
> James Potter has known Sirius Black since they were eleven and heard several stories in the past two weeks of the Fit Lecture Bird. However he's never actually met her. So when a very attractive redhead bursts into his and the lad's apartment whilst he's half-asleep and half-naked, he has no idea who she is. (He's also very mad at Sirius Black for not telling him anything, ever.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little twist on the “hOOOoooOo shit, so you’re the older sibling my best friend always talks about hahah wow tHEY NEVER BOTHERED TELLING ME YOU WERE THIS HOT” au because I’m meant to be revising. Feat. Sirius Black with an undercut. Please ignore the spelling mistakes.

Patience has never been a virtue Lily Evans possessed so when the door opens to Sirius’ apartment, five minutes after she rung the bell, she’s checked her watch eleven times and is tapping her foot obnoxiously. She doesn’t wait to see who it is when the door opens, just pushes past and starts speaking.

“This is fucking ridiculous Black!” She starts, heading to the kitchen. “Sixth time this week I’ve had to wake you up. I’m not going to do this next time. The lectures start at eleven and if you miss them, on your head be it. Have you even had breakfast yet?” Lily takes a breath and turns away from the open fridge door to see why Sirius hasn’t interrupted with any awful excuses yet. What she sees is not Sirius looking affronted and tired. 

Instead there’s a completely different unnecessarily tall black haired boy, still with his hand on the door handle. He’s looking at the redhead in bewilderment, other hand apparently stuck in his hair. A pair of glasses rest lopsidedly on his nose, one arm not quite tucked behind his ear. Hazel eyes squint at her from behind the lenses, obviously confused and either scared or aroused.  _Shit,_ Lily thinks, trying to figure out if she’s walked into the wrong apartment. Barging past him she’d only spared the person a glance, taken in their height, and continued.  _God, you’re an idiot._

“Um..” Finally the guy takes his hand from his hair, “Do I know you?” In that moment Lily is very grateful that the fridge is providing a breeze of cool air because she’s never, in all her twenty one years, heard a voice that’s made her want to drop her pants and have her with way with someone as much as his.

“I’m so sorry-”

“Did you say Black?” Sexy Voice Guy interrupts, a crease forming between his eyebrows.

“Yeah. Sirius Black, do you know him?” Lily decides to leave the fridge door open; her eyes have drifted down and taken in the almost nakedness of this bespectacled 6″3 fittie. Yeah, she definitely wants him to fuck her up against a wall. 

"He’s my best mate,” Sexy Voice Guy grins, “and my roommate.”

“Oh thank fuck.” Relief rushes through her and Lily laughs, crossing her arms on top of the fridge door.

“You haven’t got the wrong apartment.” Sexy Voice Guy assures.

“Wait - are  _you_ James?” Lily straightens, something clicking in her head. Sirius had mentioned his roommate, the fourth one anyway, a thousand or so times in the two weeks Lily has known him and surely this must be him. Glasses, tall, black hair, he fits the few characteristics Sirius had mentioned in his tales of their exploits.

James, having joined her in the kitchen, runs a hand though his hair. “The one and only.” 

“Black said you were visiting family.”

“Something like that.” He clears his throat with a half smile. “Not to be forward or anything but , I’ve never met you before and you’re in my kitchen and you know my name and -”

“Evans. Lily Evans.” Stepping away from the fridge, she offers him her hand. His is big an warm and Lily distracts herself from thinking about what those fingers could to do her by closing the fridge. "Black calls me Evans.”

“That’s one of his Things.” James smiles, he hasn’t really stopped, and shrugs.

“I noticed.” Lily laughs.

“How do you know him?”

“We met at the Leaky Cauldron about two weeks ago."

She watches James’ eyebrows jerk up, “Are you two-” he hesitates, “a thing?”

“Oh, no, go no!” The absurdity of it makes her grin, even though she only met him twelve days ago she knows that’s not a possibility.

“Good.” Now Lily’s eyebrows shoot up. James looks positively mortified. “I mean, not like, good, just I didn’t -” His hand jumps to his hair.

“It’s fine. No need to explain yourself hotstuff.” The pet name makes him blush and Lily bites her lip because the name suits him, sarcastic or not. 

“He’s out. Obviously. He said last night he’d be back tomorrow.” Diverting the conversation back to Black, James leans against the counter top, crossing his arms over his chest. That sight is almost enough to make Lily miss the fact that Sirius isn’t there.

“The bastard! Where is he?” Lily tugs her phone from her pocket and opens her chat with Sirius. He never once mentioned missing today’s lecture.

“Visiting family.”

Lily scoffs. “Sounds like a default.” Sending off a line of angry emojis to Sirius, she looks up to see James watching her. His expression is unreadable.

“What were you guys meant to be doing?” He asks.

“We’ve been going to a series of lectures about Philosophy and Politics, there’s two more left.”

“Wait,” James’ face lights up, “lectures?  _You’re_ Fit Lecture Bird?” His expression falls at her sardonic smile.

“Two things. One, why do you sound so surprised and, two, is that actually what he calls me?” Lily’s more amused if anything but she still awaits the answer with an expectantly raised eyebrow.

James rubs his hand over the back of his neck. “It makes sense that you’re Fit - _her_ , but didn’t think you’d know where we lived and shit and, um, yeah, he did call you that. Just a few times.”

Lily rolls her eyes. “Dickhead."

“That’s Sirius.” James grins. Absolute dickhead.” They fall silent for a second and Lily resists the urge to trail her eyes down his body to where his boxers rest on his hips.

“Well, I should probably be going then. Might get there on time now I don’t have to feed Sirius.” She smiles and slips her hand into the back pocket of her jeans.

“Enjoy it.”

"Thanks.” She moves towards the door and James follows. “Send Black my unhappiest regards and tell him he better be here for tomorrow’s lecture.”

Standing just inside the door, James laughs, "I look forward to telling him. Nice to meet you Evans.

“And you.” Lily waves, beginning to walk towards the lift before turning around. He’s still there. “By the way, you glasses,” She taps the side of her head and James’ hand lurches up to his ear. The last thing Lily sees before she turns back around and calls an unanswered ‘bye’ over her shoulder is James, turning bright red. 

* * *

 As soon as she’s in her car Lily grabs her phone and calls Sirius. He picks up immediately.

“What?” He drawls down the line.

“Thanks for letting me know.” Lily says, letting the sarcasm drown her words.

“You’re very welcome. What did you think of James?”

“How do you -” Lily stars and Sirius interrupts, using the voice he used when he was explaining the difference between Italian wine and Australian wine.

“I just received sixteen messages from him.” The idea of it makes Lily smile, biting her lip to stop it from spreading to a grin at his next words. “All of them in caps.”

“You never mentioned that your ‘git of a best friend’ is the hottest person to walk the earth since Patrick Swayze blessed us with his jawline.” The sigh she receives in response is a weary one, heavy with exasperation

“Well since I own a mirror I know that statement is incorrect,” Sirius pauses to allow Lily to snort, “also I didn’t realise his average looks were significant enough to bring up in conversation.”

Lily considers this for a moment. “They are now that I’ve seen his looks are much higher than average.”

“He should let you borrow his glasses, clearly you need them more than him.”

“He should let me borrow his dick.”

“Evans.” Sirius’ utter scorn travels along the line and Lily imagines him rolling his eyes. “Don’t you have a lecture to go to?”

“Fuck!” Her eyes shoot to the dashboard clock and she swears again, holding the phone between her cheek and her shoulder as starts the car.

“Go be educated you filthy mouthed harlot.”

“Go suck a dildo.” Lily reverses and pulls onto the main road.

* * *

 He’s sent Sirius twenty three messages and called him twce but the line's busy. A second after his twenty fourth message though,  _Uptown Funk_ blares from his phone, signalling that  _Padfoot!!11!:**_ is calling.

“What?” Sirius says as soon as James picks up.

“You never said Fit Lecture Bird was hot.”

His best friend sighs, giving James the distinct impression that he’s rolling his eyes. “How could I have been any clearer?” Sirius asks.

“By going into vivid detail about the fucking gorgeous curve -” 

“I’m going to stop you right there Prongs and request that you move out and never speak to me again.” His tone suggests that he’s fully enveloped in his role of long-suffering best friend.

“But you get my point, right?” James persists, pushing through Sirius’ chagrin.

“Yes, Evans is very hot. What about it?” Sirius is smirking now, James can tell, and if he could, he’d reached down the phone line and smack him.

A moment later, James decides to given into Sirius’ silence. “Where’s the lecture being held?”

“Atta boy.” Yeah, James would definitely smack the smirk off his face.

* * *

The lecturer pauses as the door opens and a man enters, hand brushing wet strands of hair away from his glasses. Lily looks up from her notes and raises an eyebrow. She watches from her seat in the back row, legs crossed, pen twirling between her fingers, as James mouths a ‘sorry’ to the lecturer and then scans the tiered seats in front of him. 

When he spots Lily, eyebrow still raised, he grins and almost quite literally bounds up the steps towards her. A few people turn around to watch him walk along the back row and Lily feels heat in her cheeks as he sits down next to her, struggling to fold his legs into the small foot space.

“Hey.” He whispers as the lecturer continues, leaning over and grinning at her.

Lily turns back to the front and keeps her eyes trained on the lecturer. “Never seen you here before.”

“I thought I’d replace Sirius as he so heartlessly abandoned you.”

“Right.” Lily bites her lip to stop herself from smiling. “You sure I don’t need to call the police? File for a restraining order?”

“I wouldn't have thought so. This way Sirius owes me one.” Out of the corner of her eye, Lily can see him tapping his fingers incessantly on the side of his thigh and she thanks Sirius silently for following through. 

“Right. Know anything about Philosophy or Politics?”

“My parent’s both work at Oxbridge, my dad moved there after he left the Houses of Parliament.”

“Oh.” Her cheeks are probably flaming now and Lily is struggling to hear what the lecturer is saying over the roar in her ears, prompted by James’ shoulder brushing against her own.

“After this,” his hand leaves his leg to run through his hair, “would you fancy getting a drink with me? There’s a coffee shop across the road and -”

“If you stop speaking over the lecturer.” Lily whispers, turning to smile at him.

“Great.” James grins and settles back into the seat, fingers tapping on his leg. "It's a date."

Lily smiles to herself. She’d told Sirius that if he didn’t get James to go to the lecture she’d never speak to him again and, also, if in the future he ever didn’t share information about how hot his friends were, she’d delete all his recorded episodes of Grey’s Anatomy. Clearly her threats work.

 


	5. As I Say Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They die apart and Lily has no idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is short and most definitely not sweet, sorry. 
> 
> "Person B knowing they’re undoubtedly about to die within the next few seconds, likely from the gaping wound they’re bleeding out from. Instead of calling for help, they phone Person A and carry on a casual conversation as if nothing is wrong, making sure to mention how much they love them before their time runs out."

Hands shaking, James pulls his mirror from his pocket and raises it up to his face. His cheeks are clean, glasses not askew and eyes bright. They won’t realise. Left hand clutching his stomach, he clears his throat.

“Sirius.” The mirror flashes and then his best friend is grinning at him, all teeth and charm.

“Alright, Potter?” He asks, eyes looking at something beyond the mirror.

“Yeah. Just thought I’d say hi.” James stares at his best friend. Drinks in the hard line of his jaw, the scar beneath his eye, the black hair currently pulled away from his face by a pair of rabbit ears. He soaks in the stormy grey of Sirius’ eyes and the lilt of his voice that never quite lost it’s poshness.

“I’m at your place, mate. Keeping the missus company.” Sirius looks at him now, grinning, and James smiles, hearing his wife’s laughter in the background.

“Tell him if he doesn’t come home soon, you and I are planing on eloping!”

“I thought you two were already married?” James says. Sirius laughs and it’s the sort of laugh that warms James from head to toe.

“We may as well be.” Sirius grins. “Look who it is!” He turns away from the mirror and James can see his face light up and a moment later his son, Harry is staring at him out of the mirror, green eyes wide.

“Dadda!” He squeals in delight, chubby fingers reaching up to smack against the glass. There’s chocolate at the side of his mouth and his black hair is a chaotic mess beneath his own pair of rabbit ears. 

“Hiya squirt.” James grins weakly, biting the inside of his cheek to stop himself from tearing up. “Daddy loves you.” He whispers, the words hidden beneath Harry’s squeals as Sirius tickles him. Harry’s hands flail in the air, feet kicking and his grin is wide and ecstatic, the laughter bubbling out of him.

“Oi, Padfoot,” James takes one last look at his son, happy and giggling, black hair his and green eyes Lily’s. “Once you’ve finished torturing my firstborn, hand me to Evans, would ya.” Just visible behind Harry’s wriggling body, Sirius nods, grinning.

“Oi, Evans! Your bloke wants you!” The mirror is passed to Lily and James sees a sweeping view of their living room, worn sofa, TV that doesn’t always work, picture frame upon picture frame, and then her. Lily. Lily Evans. Lily Potter. His Lily.

Green green eyes and hair that spills down her shoulders like wine. She’s wearing her favourite jumper, the orange one that Remus got her for Christmas with the lyrics to  _Anarchy in the U.K._ embroidered on it. Around her neck is her mother’s wedding ring, the gold chain slightly tangled near her collar bone. She has chocolate on her ear and chin and she looks beautiful. 

“Hiya.” She smiles at him, walking into the kitchen so he loses sight of Sirius lifting Harry up into the air behind her. “You going to be home soon?”

“In a bit, yeah.” He smiles softly and refuses to let his voice crack. He will not let her see.

“Do you think could could stop by the post office, pick up the newspaper? Padfoot forgot and the solution to the crossword is in it.” Lily rolls her eyes fondly, free hand reaching up to brush a strand of hair behind her ear. James stares at for a moment. Studies the jump of her nose and the green green of her eyes and the hollow of her neck. 

“’Course. I’ll see you soon.”

Lily grins and blows a kiss to him, fingernails a bright yellow. “See you soon.”

“I love you.” James says it earnestly, voice strong and raw and full of every single moment he’s spent with her. The time she tripped him up in the hallway, the time he pushed her against a wall in a broom cupboard, the time she shrieked as he tickled her, the time they said ‘I do’, the time she spent a whole History of Magic lesson throwing parchment at him, the time he cried into her shoulder after his Mum died and she held him together like she always has, the time she burped in bed and he laughed until she kicked him off, the time she told him she loved him for the first time, the time he stole her favourite quill and she changed the prescription of his glasses, the time James realised he was in love with her. The words are full of everything and all of her and him and _them_  and he’s never meant it more than in those few moments.

“I love you too, Potter.” She winks and James chuckles, the laugh ripping through him like a dull knife. “Say bye to Daddy, Harry.” James doesn’t blink as she walks back through to the living room and sits down next to Sirius, arm moving out so he can see the three of them. He wishes Remus and Peter are there so he could tell them he loves them too. 

Harry, tugging on Sirius’ hair, waves at the camera, pudgy fingers loose and sticky. They’re all smiling. Happy on their sofa in his home, happy in the knowledge that he will be back soon. Sirius nods at him, blowing him a kiss in imitation of Lily and James’ smile widens. Lily reaches over to punch Sirius in the shoulder and after that they’re in a tickling war, Harry giggling between them.

“I love you.” James whispers as the mirror goes black and the last thing James Potter hears as he dies, left for dead by a Death Eater who didn’t have the guts to finish the job, is the sound of happiness blossoming from the people he loves most in the world. 


	6. Better Than Our Own Genes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's girlfriend visits for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> because i haven’t written anything in yonks and i’m trying to get over my writer’s block and because if i wasn’t doing this i’d be doing nothing at all. also because i didn’t write anything for james’ or harry’s birthdays so yeah. i’m trying to make up for it. 
> 
> au where everyone lives and people meet ginny. (pls don’t ask me about the ending because i just don’t know okay)
> 
> happy birthday ginny!

Harry and his girlfriend are twenty minutes late. Consequently, James has been pacing the kitchen for twenty minutes. Watching from her seat at the kitchen table, Lily’s trying to figure out how he hasn’t worn the floor down with all his pacing over the years. She’s also trying not to laugh because, really, she’d have thought James would’ve taken the news that Harry was bringing his girlfriend over much better. Or at least with less anxiety. 

It’s not like Ginny hasn’t ever been to their house before. Lily couldn’t count how many times she’s been here. Of course, this time is different because she’s visiting without any of her family and she’ll be staying with them for the weekend and it’s the firt time she’s here as, officially, Harry’s girlfriend. But he’s just been at the Weasley’s for a week and after the weekend Ron and Hermione will come over - Ginny staying a few nights on her own had been Lily’s idea. Really, she doesn’t know why James is nervous at all the daft prat.

“What if she got cold feet?” He bursts out as he starts his circuit around the table again. 

Lily snorts. “It’s not her wedding day, James. They probably just got caught up in something.” Given their own track record of keeping time, Lily isn’t surprised that Harry is late. He grew up with last minute rushes and apologies on arrival. 

“Still -” James’ next worry is cut off by the sound of the front door being opened. He looks to Lily, a deer caught in the headlights, and she barely holds back laughter. 

“Mum! Dad! We’re here.” Harry’s voice travels through from the hall and Lily points at James and then at the cupboard where the mugs are.

“We’re in the kitchen honey.” Imagining Harry’s furious blushing at the pet name, Lily checks her wand is keeping her bun in place and smiles softly at her husband who has taken her silent command as a distraction and is making tea the muggle way. They hear shoes being kicked off and hushed tones then, moments later, Harry appears in the doorway, his girlfriend next to him. 

Standing and rushing to hug her son, making sure to kiss him on the cheek, Lily then turns to the girl. “Ginny! It’s so good to see you, how are you?” She sweeps up the ginger girl in a hug too and then takes a step back, holding Ginny at arms length. She doesn’t look nervous at all. A battered suitcase is in one hand and Lily can see her broomstick propped up against the wall in the hall behind her. 

“I’m good thanks. Thanks for having me, Mum’s been so frantic with the holiday and everything, think it’s good for her to have one kid out the house.” She laughs and her hand slips easily into Harry’s. 

“Of course. You leave Monday don’t you?” They settle easy into conversation, as they always do,  and James comes to say hello and within two minutes they’re sat around the table with their tea, talking about quidditch and Ginny’s holiday to see Charlie. Both James and Harry have stopped looking like they’ve been called to the front of the class by McGonagall and it’s nice. Ginny looks like she’s at home. 

Later, much later, after Sirius has come over for dinner and they’ve played a game of quidditch in the dusky air and stayed up in the living room with glasses of wine and butterbeer and cried with laughter, Lily smiles as she climbs into bed next to James. 

“That wasn’t so bad was it?” She asks, letting him put his arm around her and tug her to his side. James sighs. 

“I didn’t think it was going to be  _bad._ I just thought we’d embarrass him.” He pushes his glasses up his nose and looks at her gently. 

“That’s our job.”

“Yeah but if we scared her off, I’d never forgive myself. She’s  _fantastic._ ” James grins, shaking his head. 

“So’s Harry.” Lily points out, resting her head on his shoulder. 

“Not as awesome as Ginny.”

“That’s my son you’re talking about.”

James presses a kiss to her head. “Our son.” Lily snuggles further into his side and starts to draw circles just below his collarbone.  _Our son._ She smiles at the thought, remembering how seventeen years ago that had been such a scary prospect. 

“Think he’ll try and sneak up into her room?” They’d decided that it would be best if Ginny slept in the Harry’s room and Harry took the sofa.

“If he’s anything like I was -”

“And still am.”

“then he’s probably already up there.” James smirks, clearly proud of himself for passing on his insatiable genes.

“Let’s hope he knows the  _muffliatio_ charm then.” 

“Isn’t it something like this?” Effortlessly James grabs his wand from the stool next to his side of the bed and waves it at the door, eyes locked on Lily’s. 

“Non-verbal, huh?” Lily lets her hand slip lower over his torso, lips tugged up at the corners. 

“I’m trying to impress a girl.” James says and within moments she’s straddling his hips and they’re both grinning, teenagers again. “For some reason I think it’s working.”

“Shut up and kiss me Potter.”

“Your wish is my command.” 

They’re still up at three, both unwilling to admit that they’re listening for Harry’s footsteps but both aware that that’s what the other is doing. They fall asleep by four though, Lily half draped across James, and neither of them hear the footsteps creaking down the stairs to the living room.


	7. laisser derrière tout ce qui est perdu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They meet accidentally, strings entangling together beneath the ink of Paris’ night. In the lamplight she is a ghost, hair on fire. James goes to her and the stars turn his backpack into dusty wings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think i might have broken out of my writer’s block. at the least, i was able to write this. 
> 
> thanks to [vousavezdeuxans](http://vousavezdeuxans.tumblr.com/) for translating all the french dialogue! 
> 
> au where james is a backpacker who gets lost in paris and lily takes him in

-  _paris_

_you happened to me. you were as deep down as i’ve ever been._

They meet accidentally, strings entangling together beneath the ink of Paris’ night. In the lamplight she is a ghost, hair on fire. James goes to her and the stars turn his backpack into dusty wings. 

“Excuse moi,” he starts, enraptured in the pool of yellow light, “je suis- un peu perdu. Pourrais-tu m’aider s’il tu plait?” His accent is broken, the lessons his governess gave him as a child almost forgotten. 

She replies, words slipping off her tongue like liquid, speaking as a native does. He’s lost. For a moment he stares blankly at her. Then, the ghost laughs and she is alive. “I’m English too, don’t worry.”

James smiles in relief, nudges his glasses up his nose. This girl is beautiful. Her accent, her English one, bears the soot of coal and the chaotic organisation of terraced houses crammed together. 

“I’m lost. I’m meant to be staying at a hostel,” her eyes flick to his backpack,” but I’m sure I took a wrong turning.” His accent is stark against hers, stained with silver spoons and the glimmer of chandeliers. 

“It’ll be closed now.” She says simply and it’s the delicate watch on her wrist that tells him it’s midnight. James groans. His phone had died around nine and Paris’ winding streets whisked time away. The girl studies him.

Beneath the yellow light her hair is red, orange, hues of the sunset fallen from the sky. Shadows beneath her eyes serve as frames for the green green irises that hold him and her skin is pale, burnt gold in the light. 

“Do you think-”

“If you like, you can stay with me.” The soot softens her words, “I’ve got a small flat. Free. Cleaner than a youth hostel - trust me, I’d know.” And he does trust her. Her lips are hesitant, teeth chewing.

James grins. “Really?” It seems impossible that his luck - so shitty up until now, a missing wallet, a delayed train, an outdated map - could turn around. 

But she nods and shrugs. “No trouble. It’s you who’ll have to sleep on the sofa.”

“I’ve slept on worse.” He follows as she steps out of the lamplight, hoisting his bag higher on his shoulders. 

They walk in silence down alleyways and past small shops that James has only seen in paintings from centuries ago. The moon washes everything in white and he knows that coming here was the right choice, even if it did mean leaving everything behind.

“James.” He blurts once they’ve been too long in silence, only interrupted by a stray cats’ meow or the hum of an engine in the distance. She looks up at him, a question. “That’s my name. I’m James Potter.” A nod in understanding.

“Lily.”

“Nice to meet you Lily.” They don’t shake hands. Their shoulders brush, barely a glance, and that suits the way the stars blink above them.

The flat is above a bakery, through a cracked black door, up a worn set of stairs, and another door, this one blue like the morning sky, and there it is.

“Emphasis on small.” He stands in the doorway as Lily steps forwards, flicking a switch and casting the room in light. There’s a kitchen of sorts, an oven, a fridge and a work surface. A mattress pushed up against another wall, white sheets tangled. Books stand in a haphazard pile next to it. Lily moves around easily and he wonders how long she’s been here. To have picked up the accent, decorated the walls of her flat with a collage of memories.

“It’s lovely.” James shuts the door behind him as Lily quirks her eyebrow in what he guesses is disbelief. She points at a bright fuchsia sofa, heavy with embroidered cushions. Most of the embroidery contains expletives.

“Your bed.” Opening a wardrobe too big to have fitted up the staircase, she pulls out a pillow, a sheet and a duvet.

“Oh, cheers.” James takes them from her and places them on the arm of the sofa.

“The bathroom is in there,” a door the same colour as the second one, “help yourself to food and drink. Whatever you need really.” Lily checks her watch. “Do you think you’ll be staying long?”

James falters. “I’ll be out of your hair in the morning -”

“Oh.” She plays with the catch on the watch. “You don’t have to. Stay as long as you want.”

“Are you sure? It’s more than enough letting me stay one night.”

“Stay.” Through the wide windows he sees Paris stretched out, twinkling lights and silhouettes. Her voice is a plea.

His voice is a saving grace. “Okay.”

After that Lily is more subtle. Helps him clear the cushions from the sofa, (he counts thirteen) tucks the sheet in, straightens the duvet. Smiles softly before disappearing into the bathroom.

James runs a hand through his hair. Wipes his hands over his face, rubs his eyes beneath his glasses. Sighs. Yawns. Strips to his boxers and climbs beneath the duvet, melts into the sofa.

By the time Lily steps out of the bathroom, he is asleep, facing the wall, glasses knocked slightly. She is silent as she crosses to her bed, changes into a simple white nightgown, slips between her sheets and closes her eyes. 

_Stay. Okay._

James wakes to the sound of a shower running. He blinks, finds himself staring at a yellow wash wall, the paint old yet clean. For a second he doesn’t know where he is. Then - the girl stood beneath a street light, a ghost, Lily. He smiles.

Rolling over and stretching, he doesn’t wince as his shoulders click, he takes in the flat properly. There are no curtains on the windows an the morning light floods in, bright and soft. 

Last night he’d glanced at the layout, not bothered to take in the details. Now he sees the newspapers stacked on the work surface, salt and pepper shakers in the shape of Laurel and Hardy, a small table beside the window, two stools tucked beneath it, books and papers on top, the wardrobe, carved with flowers, her bed still unmade, a book propped open on the pillow, the embroidered cushions in a mountain by the bathroom door,  _too many fucking idiots_ , the memories stuck on the wall, pinpoints of her life. He can see ticket stubs, photographs, leaflets, stickers, postcards, badges, lists, polaroids, wrappers, drawings. The collage almost stretches floor to ceiling, the lowest memories just brushing her bed. 

The shower stops. The door knob twists.

Lily steps out, a viciously pink towel wrapped around her, secured beneath her armpits. She freezes when she notices that he’s awake and his cheeks heat. Refusing to let himself look at the expanse of her skin on show, James smiles apologetically. 

“Mornin’,” She says, snapping the awkwardness. “Bathroom’s empty. Don’t know how much hot water will be left, that’s my fault, sorry.”

“It’s fine.” James pushes the duvet off of him and is reminded of just how sweaty and grubby he feels. Glad of the diversion to take his eyes away from Lily, who’s moved to her wardrobe, he crouches down in front of his backpack and rifles through it. If he had packed properly he’s sure he would’ve found clothes in a few seconds. As it is it’s a few minutes before he unsurfaces a clean pair of boxers and some clothes. 

Lily’s managed to change into a sundress, hidden by the wardrobe doors. “Towels are on the shelf.” She says and he pushes the bolt across.

The bathroom is tiny, barely room for a shower, sink and toilet. Like the rest of the flat though, it works. The whole room is steamy and James can see Lily’s handprints where she’s opened the glass shower door. A square has been wiped on the mirror and he takes in his reflection. Aside from the dusk beneath his eyes and the shadow on his jaw, he doesn’t look like he’s spent the better part of two days either cramped on a train or wandering lost around Paris.

Yawning, he drops his boxers and steps into the shower. The system is old, antique, but he’s used to antiques. 

He stays in the water until it runs cold, which he guesses is about ten minutes, then finds the shelf of towels. All of them are different colours, none of them a shade duller than at least neon. He chooses the least offensive, a bright green, and dries himself quickly. Once he’s dressed he rubs his jaw, tells himself he’s an idiot for not even remembering razors.

“Do you like pancakes?” James opens the door and is greeted by the sight of Lily, pan held out in front of her, pancake spinning through the air. She catches it with expertise. 

“Love ‘em.” 

Lily sets the pan back on the heat and then gestures to the table. “Help yourself.”

James looks and finds a plate, laden with pancakes, set on top of a book. With the view of Paris behind it, it’s heaven sent. He hasn’t eaten since about eleven am yesterday and now, the smell filling the whole flat, he realises it. 

They sit opposite each other, eating the pancakes off  _Dora the Explorer_ decorated plates with  _Elmer_ cutlery. She buries hers in sugar and lemon juice and syrup. So much so that he wonders how her teeth aren’t made of cavities.

“About last night-” Lily looks through the window, doesn’t meet his gaze, “if you don’t want to stay, that’s fine. You’re more than welcome too, I just understand if -”

“I’ll stay.” Her smile floods the room.

 

He learns more about Paris just by being there for a few hours with her than he ever did in school or on the internet. The Seine runs through her veins, overflowing out her mouth, onto his skin. 

Somehow she knows everyone who walks past them in the alleyways, they tell out dictionaries in French, leaving James behind. He stands next to her, aches to draw everything he sees. And he learns about her. 

Beneath the pale pink shutters she tells him she grew up in Cokeworth, a town forged in fire beneath the ground, full of those who either wanted more or didn’t know more existed. All she ever knew was Cokeworth until her dad died, barely two months after her mum, and she left. Ran away to Paris with no intention to stay. Until she never left. That was two years ago and he sees the pain in her eyes, isn’t sure if the glint is regret. 

When she falters he picks it up, tells her of a house passed down through generations where love was in the very walls, the foundation, the brickwork. A house that was always home, until boarding school where he found brothers, made a second home, brought them back to his first. Then his dad died and things changed, not much, but enough. (She nods at this point, and he knows she understands empty rooms, quiet dinners, the loss that welds itself to a home.) How he decided one night that he wanted to travel. So he planned it, said goodbye and got on the train. 

“What about your mum?” Her eyes stay trained on the padlocks, flicker to where a couple further down the bridge is throwing a key into the river.

“She wanted me to go. Said she was fed up of me treating her like an invalid, promised that she could look after herself and dropped me at the train station.” James laughs, shaking his head. “My mum is strong.”

“Don’t you know that women are made of pain?” Lily says, and looks at him.  _Stay. Okay._

_  
_

Every day they follow the same routine. She showers, he showers, they eat together and then they go out.

Sometimes she’ll tell him about Paris, point out monuments and walk him across bridges, to places where they’ll queue to get in and then sneak away from the guided tour because Lily knows the same facts, more facts, better stories. Sometimes they’ll go to a cafe or a park and talk for hours, making their way through Paris’ dessert menus. 

Other times they’re not together. She doesn’t ask him, he doesn’t ask her. On these days James does what he came to Paris to do. To draw, paint, sketch. He starts with the obvious things. The Eiffel Tower is easy, the Seine simple, the Notre Dame repetitive. Then, as he learns more about the city, he paints exactly that. The tourists licking ice cream cones, the market place and the bartering and fresh fruit, the alleys with shutters and giggling children, down along the Seine the stallholders who always have the best deal, the couple kissing in the shadow of apartments which feel like old money. 

One day she finds him by the Seine, his canvas capturing the evening’s lights on the water. 

“I didn’t know you painted.” She says simply, eyes tracing the glow reflected in the river.

Instead of telling her she never asked, he shrugs. “It’s why I came.”

From then on they don’t spend days apart. She sits next to him, reading, as he sketches two businesswomen smoking by the Arc de Triomphe. As he paints the sunset. As he draws Paris, from a distance, with details, in tonal, in colour. 

And then he draws her. Reading. Brushing a strand of hair away from her face. Laughing. Pointing at a boat coming up the water. Without realising it, he’s painted her everywhere. Whether as a passerby, smudged in his watercolour of the Sacre-Coeur, or as half of a couple, or as the entire painting. He has to buy more red paint within a few days.

His sketchbooks fill, a blur of Lily in the midst of Paris, and in the corner of the flat his canvases stand. He hadn’t planned on staying so long. June melts into July. Lily doesn’t ask him to stay, she doesn’t need to. His toothbrush stands in the pot next to hers, his shaving foam isn’t allowed to take precedent on the shelf with her shampoo and conditioner, his books are scattered amongst hers on the table, he isn’t sure which charging cord for his phone is his any more, the brown sauce she doesn’t like sits in the cupboard, a key to the flat sits in his pocket next to the wallet she haggled for before he learnt how. It feels like home. 

 

Eventually he finds out where the embroidered cushions came from. Marlene McKinnon is French, only drinks red wine, wears heels all the time and scares the hell out of James. He meets her at the foot of the staircase leading up to the flat (he isn’t sure if it quite counts as his flat yet but he likes to call it that in his head) and isn’t sure if she’s come to kill him or not. 

“Salut. Tu dois être le colocataire. Est-ce-que tu saurais pourquoi Evans est perpétuellement en retard? Et déplace toujours le double de la clé sans me dire où? Mon Dieu, ne me dis pas que c'est toi qui as le double ?” He catches ‘late’, and ‘my god’ and that’s it. Languages were never his strong point and he hasn’t really picked anything much up from being here. The woman, the same height as him in black stilettos, frowns. “Tu sais, c'est vraiment incroyablement impoli d'ignorer quelqu'un.”

James stumbles over himself to give her some sort of answer, wary that if he doesn’t say something she won’t stop. “Excusez-moi, désolé, je ne parle pas français.” The woman’s face brightens. 

“ Ah oui, bien sûr! Désolée, j'avais oublié. Evans me l'avait dit pourtant. Pas de soucis, I speak English.” 

“Oh, great. Um, I’m staying with Lily.”

“James?” She asks and promptly holds out her hand. 

“Yeah.” He shakes it, then questions whether or not he should have kissed it. “James.”

“I’m Marlene. Evans said -”

“Marls! Merde, je suis désolée. Le marché était un vrai cauchemar. ” Lily appears, rushing toward them, carrying several plastic bags in each hand. Then she spots James, and slows. She’s wearing a nervous smile. “James, hey. Have you guys-”

“We ‘ave intr’duced ourselves, oui.”

“Great, great, génial.” She steps between them and fumbles with the door key for a moment. James wants to help but Marlene is holding him still, her gaze appraising. 

“’Ow long ‘ave you been staying ‘ere?” Her accent laces her words as they follow Lily up the steps, James taking half of the load from her before so. He walks behind the women, trying to figure out how it’s been a month and this is the first time he’s meeting someone who a) knows his name without him having to tell her and b) seems to be Lily’s good friend. 

“About a month.”

“Just over.” Lily says from the front, stopping to unlock the second door.

“Yeah. Got here about mid-june, never left.” He adds a sort of chuckle on the end for good measure, not sure how to act around Marlene. She’s imposing to say the least. Tall, dark, handsome, the confidence radiates off her. 

“Et donc, c'est lui qui te plaît?” James stands next to Lily as they unpack the bags from the market and Marlene makes herself at home, kicking her heels off and literally draping herself over the sofa. 

Standing on tiptoes to put away the cereal, Lily blushes gently. He wishes he could speak French. “Ferme-la, j'ai dit qu'il était mignon, c'est tout.” 

“Franchement, tu devrais lui sauter dessus.” At Marlene’s reply, Lily’s cheek darken and now he’s certain they’re talking about him. “Now, James, I want to talk to you. We ‘ave all been dying to meet you. Chéri Evans ‘as been ‘iding you away. Eet is not fair.” She flourishes her hand in conclusion, and James imagines her in a period drama on BBC One at nine o’clock. It would suit her he thinks. 

“I haven’t been hiding him away. None of you have come to see me. That’s all.” Lily takes the empty bags and shoves them inside of each other. 

James runs a hand through his hair. “Could I ask exactly who’s heard about me?” 

Forcing Marlene to swing her feet to the floor so she can sit next to her on the sofa, Lily blushes again. “Just a few of my friends.”

“’Er dearest amis.” Marlene grins. 

“Right.” James smiles reassuringly at Lily. It’s not like he hadn’t told his own friends about her. He had - he’d just left out a few details. 

“Dis-moi Evans, est-ce-que je devrais demander où il dort exactement?” Marlene’s grin only widens as Lily swats at her. “James, tell me about yourself.” 

And that’s how their first meeting starts. It reminds James of all the times he was sent to see McGonagall, except this time he doesn’t know what he’s guilty of. 

When Marlene leaves, at midnight, not even tipsy after five glasses of red wine, she kisses him on both cheeks and winks at Lily, whispering something that makes the redhead blush furiously. As soon as the door shuts behind her, Lily is apologising, hiding her face behind her hands and promising next time she’ll give him some warning. James thinks he might be in shock. “I think I’m going to have another glass of wine.” 

 

Eventually July passes and August arrives, bringing higher temperatures, more tourists and shorter skirts. James doesn’t mind the last one. He’s introduced to all of Lily’s ‘dearest amis’ and finds that Marlene isn’t so intimidating when there’s more of them. Mary is short and sweet and her headdress is never the same colour twice. She likes James, tells him he’s good for Lily (he doesn’t quite understand when she says that, voice lowered and eyes on Lily who’s standing across the room, smiling at Emmeline) and offers to bake him several cakes. He accepts her offer. 

Emmeline Vance is German, doesn’t speak a word of French and wears lots of shirts with impressionist paintings on them. She likes James too, tells him he better look after Lily, or he’d have the lot of them after his hide. Alice and Frank are English and come as a pair and before he’s introduced to them, Lily pulls him aside to tell him very sternly that Alice uses they pronouns and if he has a problem with that then he’d have to leave. He doesn’t though and and he talks to Alice about how they met Frank, which seems to be their favourite topic of conversation. 

All of them call her Evans and he does too, once, after meeting all of them for the first time and realising it’s not just a Marlene quirk. He says it quickly, smiling into the dark, “Goodnight, Evans.”

There’s a pause, an intake of breath, and then, “Goodnight, Potter.” 

(From then on all he ever calls her is Evans and she responds in kind, Potter parting her lips like a prayer.)

_Stay. Okay._

At least once a week everyone meets up at someone’s house and James feels like he’s known them as long as he’s known Lily. It’s weird, how quickly people can become integrated into your life. James doesn’t mind at all. 

With August also comes art galleries. Lily insists on taking him to every single one in Paris, and so they go to every art gallery in Paris. Inside the galleries Lily stands out next to the other visitors, her hair spilling like wine over her shoulders, and James looks at her more than he looks at the art on display. Studies the line of her jaw, the almost invisble freckles on her nose, the scar below her eyebrow, the pink of her lips, the slope of her neck, her soft skin. He thinks about telling her that she is more beautiful than any of the pieces they look at. The words never quite make it out. 

They hide behind pillars to take photos in the ‘no photography’ galleries, pretend to be lost English tourists to annoy a pretentious French man who Lily overheard commenting on the length of her dress, he grabs her hand when they runaway from a guard who chases them after Lily accidentally leans to close to a sculpture. They stand still, a tableaux, in front of Monet and Van Gogh and Michaelangelo and Matisse. He lets her push her way to the front of the crowd in front of the Mona Lisa because, even though he’d rather look at Renoir than Da Vinci, she is so proud to show him this.

“Growing up, I never really paid a lot of attention to art. I wasn’t very good at it in school. The only painting in my house was a print, of a girl playing a card game. I loved that painting. That was art for me. It didn’t need to be drawn by some old master, hung in a frame. When I came to Paris and visited the Louvre for the first time I realised that I didn’t  _need_ to know anything about art or be good at it to appreciate it. It’s all beautiful.” They’re standing in front of Van Gogh’s  _Portrait of Doctor Cachet_  and Lily’s voice is soft, inked with the past. James looks at her. 

“How are we not art, when our hips and our lips and our hands all fit together like corresponding pieces?” He uses someone else's words because his own are painted with green eyes and wine hair and he’s afraid to say them in case they cut his throat. 

_Stay._

 

In the middle of August, they get drunk one night. Rain smudges Paris into an oil painting and they drink wine from  _Winnie the Pooh_ mugs, curled up on the sofa. There are two embroidered cushions -  S _acrebleu!_ and  _There’s a fine for any bullshit left behind_  - between them and Lily’s duvet is tucked around them. Candles light the flat, resting on the floor and the table, a definite fire hazard. 

They’ve spent the day letting ice cream drip onto their fists, making up stories for tourists beneath the Eiffel Tower, brushing shoulders as they walked along the Seine. The wine is warm in their veins.

Lily’s head rests against the back of the sofa, tilted towards him so her whole face is bathed in candlelight. “Do you remember the night we met?” She asks suddenly, breaking off from telling him about how she once hid a mouse in a teacher’s desk because the teacher told her she was slow. 

Of course he remembers that night. The way his shirt clung to his back, trapped between his backpack. How the sky above was teal and navy and indigo and oxford and sapphire. Lily beneath the lamp, a ghost with a forest in her eyes. “Yeah.” He looks down at her, rests his cheek on the back of the sofa, searches her face. 

“My sister was getting married that day. At one. In the church where we used to go to Sunday school. I’d always thought I’d be her a bridesmaid for her, her maid of honour even. I wasn’t even invited.” Lily has told him about her sister, Petunia, before. How they were best friends and then strangers, how Lily never really understood why. She’s never spoken about her so candidly before though. As if now she does understand why.

“I’m sorry.” Her hand smoothes over the duvet and, on impulse, he reaches for it, takes it in his own. She looks at him, her eyes dark in the candlelight, and nods once, as if assuring herself of something. Her hand is small in his, delicate almost, a bruise on the edge of her knuckles where she banged them against the counter top yesterday. It’s a galaxy on the edge of her hand. 

“You don’t have to be. You came up to me,” her lips curve up slight, unconsciously, a quiet laugh, “with your smudged glasses and hurricane hair and obscenely large backpack.” She looks away, out to Paris. “I was wondering how deep the Seine was.” She must feel his hand tense because she looks back up at him, “Not like that. Not like that at all. I was just wondering if I dived in and swam all the way to the bottom, would I be able to hear the traffic, would I be able to look up and see the lights, would I be able to remember Petunia?” 

Lily takes a sip of her wine, nestles the mug back amongst the wrinkles in the duvet. Looking at her James realises that he loves her. Which is funny because he didn’t come to Paris to fall in love and yet, here he is, sitting next to the girl who makes his heart beat faster and his smiles come easier and his laughs louder and his sketchbook fuller. The realisation is subtle, quiet, almost as if he’s known for a while but never quite thought about it. 

Was this love? Holding the hand of someone you’d known for two months and wishing you could give them the world? Painting them in everything, seeing them everywhere? Perhaps the books were wrong. Maybe you didn’t fall in love. Maybe you eased yourself into it, dipped your toes in first, let it wash over you until it was all you knew. Maybe it felt so right because it had never, not even for a moment, felt wrong. “I came to Paris to paint Paris. And I ended up painting you.” 

“Well, I’m no French girl and you’re no Jack, but,” Lily smiles and he knows that this is love, “things have a funny way of working themselves out.”

_Okay._

_  
_

Something shifts after that night. James isn’t quite sure what exactly shifts, he just knows it does. Her hands finds his along the Seine, his shoulder brushes against hers as they’re cooking dinner, her foot knocks against his shin beneath the table at a cafe, his feet rest in her lap in the evenings when they’re reading quietly on the sofa. 

Standing beneath the streetlight where they first met, Lily laughs and she isn’t pale at all. She is a thousand colours, blossoming from her hair and her lips and her elbows and her calves. She is so so much and James can’t for a minute believe he ever thought she was a ghost. He smiles at her, so bright and alive, and when she catches her lip between her teeth, he tilts his head, rests his hand on the curve of her hip. 

With the lights of the city in her eyes she raises herself on her tiptoes, fingers in his hair, and her lips meet his, soft and red with lipstick and perfect. James pulls her closer, holds her against him, her spine beneath his palm, his eyes burning from how bright she is. 

“Tu as pris ton temps, Potter.” She whispers into his mouth, flowers in her throat. 

James frames her face in his hands, soothes his thumbs over her cheeks, rests his forehead on hers. “Excusez-moi, désolé, je ne parle pas français.”

They run back to the flat, pausing beneath shop canopies and the stars and beside statues to press their lips against each other, their mouths furnaces in the cold night. It’s his key they use to get in and they barely remember to close the door behind them before they’re kissing again, hands tugging at clothes and worshipping skin. 

They fall onto the mattress, laughter knocking everywhere, and James pulls his shirt over his head, burns a trail down her jaw, lets her nails dig into his back, blushes when her shirt rips. Whispers travel in the silence, questions, confessions, traced onto skin, engraved in kisses. 

Together they shatter, her back arched, a revelation, his head bent, an oath, and in each other they find what they’ve both been looking for. 

_Stay. Okay. Okay. Okay. Okay._

_Okay._

_  
_

_\- london_

_you were inside me like my pulse._

The arrivals of Heathrow is busy, people running to greet their friends, families hugging, hands waving, suitcases hitting people’s ankles. Lily has only been there once and no one was there to greet her. She holds James hand as they come through, having agreed to let him push the trolley after about five minutes of arguing about it. 

“What if they don’t like me?” She asks as James scans the crowd, searching for his friends. It’s an unusual question from her because, well, because she usually doesn’t worry about things like that. 

James laughs, stops scanning the crowd to pull her into his side so he can kiss her forehead. “Don’t be daft. They’ll be proposing by the end of the week.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know them and I know you and I love you so they’ll love you too.” He says it so easily, so simply, as if there’s nothing more to it and Lily feels the strings wrapped around her heart tighten because hearing him say he loves her so casually makes her feel like she’s a supernova, exploding, light crashing out of her. She loves it. 

“Can you see them?” They start walking again, making their way along the barrier, and when they do see them, Lily realises it was unnecessary for James to show her photos of them. 

Two of them, Peter and Remus, are holding a large banner, words hand painted on what she thinks is an old bed sheet. In red she reads,  _WELCOME BACK PRONGS! WE MISSED YOU!_ Squeezed beneath these, in different writing, is  _(ALSO WELCOME LILY)._ She finds herself smiling in spite of herself. Sirius is standing in front of the banner and the minute he spots James he’s gracefully jumping over the barrier and sprinting towards him. 

It really is like a romantic film because, in the next second, James has squeezed Lily’s hand, abandoned the trolley and is sprinting towards Sirius. They meet halfway, stumbling at the force of the hug, and she’s never seen James grip so fiercely, at least not when he’s been clothed. People are watching, a few smiling, some raising eyebrows in amusement or question. They look like brothers. They  _are_ brothers, she thinks. 

After a few moments, or minutes, of hugging and whispering and, she thinks, a few tears from both boys, they separate and make their way towards her. Lily holds the trolley tightly. 

“Evans, meet my brother, Sirius.” James gestures between them, his entire face bright. Sirius looks completely different from a moment ago, suddenly cool and collected, cheekbones speaking of a family born in marble. 

“James hasn’t shut about you.” His lips curl, some hybrid of a smile and smirk that Sirius pulls off, and James runs a hand through his hair, takes the trolley from Lily. 

“With good reason.” Lily smiles back, lips wide, and the smirk vanishes. 

Remus and Peter throw the banner down and envelop James and once again people around them stare. None of the boys notice though as they bury themselves in each other, words flying from their mouths as fast as bullets. 

Where Sirius is all leather jackets and skinny jeans, undercut and ear piercing screaming the fact he doesn’t give a single fuck, Remus is soft edges and a large knit cardigan, patches at the elbows, a leather satchel on his shoulder. Peter is the shortest, cartoon t-shirt, and dreadlocks tied in a ponytail with a pink ribbon. They’re mismatched, James and Sirius the only ones who could pass as related, and they fit together smoothly, the marble cheekbones and hurricane hair and perpetually curved lips and rounded cheeks. 

She fits in too, she thinks, in the car, when James puts her in the middle seat, between him and Sirius, and her hair is blood next to their night skies, and Peter asks a question a minute and Remus drives carefully, the CD his choice, the music a blend of James and she guesses the rest of them. Lily feels safe, as if they aren’t three strange boys but Marlene and Alice and Emmeline. 

James squeezes her hand and she knows that coming back was a good idea. 

_Stay. Okay._

 

Remus falls asleep first, his head on Sirius’ shoulder, and the boys take that as a sign they should all go to bed. Sirius guides Remus to his room and then winks at James, saying he’ll sleep on the sofa tonight. Peter grins and ducks into his own room before James can swat at him. Remus mutters something about co-dependent children and then shuts his door. 

Lily is smiling as she follows James to his room, the one he shares with Sirius, and it’s nothing like she imagined it would be but at the same time exactly what she thought. His bed is small and old and his duvet is a  _Star Wars_ one and she doesn’t even register if it’s comfy or not because she’s in his arms and she feels at home. 

“I love you.” He murmurs into her hair, arms encircling her. 

“I love you too.” She whispers into the night and she has never meant anything as much as she means those three words. They fall asleep and dream of Paris nights and red paint and a flat they flooded with themselves. 

 

_Stay. Okay._


	8. when the tide comes in (we’ll go out with it)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> au where they (all) live

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is my fic for jilytober. hope you all like it!

_Maybe, one day, we’ll be happy again._

Someone suggests it after the last Order meeting, their voice hollow and not quite sure about the future. The room is full of the remains of their friends and no one knows what to do because it’s over now and yet the joy Dumbledore had said he was sure they all felt doesn’t exist. The Order had started off with fifty members and now the last twenty three stand in the room where they received the news each time someone fell.

Everything is hollow. Even the suggestion. But James clings onto it like it’s the only thing keeping him up. He doesn’t let go of it even after everyone else has forgotten about it. They all leave, going to homes that feel more like morgues now, and they all forget, except for James. He keeps it in his head because he  _has_ to believe in it, for all four of them.

It’s slow. The world doesn’t right itself immediately. Voldemort has gone but he’s left an infestation behind. The Order is over, ended the night He ends, but the fight isn’t. There are trials and attacks and stake outs and newspaper reports and it’s endless. Again and again they’re called into the Ministry, again and again they’re in the middle of a battle, again and again they go home and stare at each other knowing what the others are thinking.

_When is it going to end?_

Remus reads the newspaper every day and then rips it up, folding up the obituaries and tucking it into his pocket. He makes tea and drinks it staring out of the window. He doesn’t finish his book or comment on the radio or come back every time he goes out. Everyone knows not to ask him where’s been, it’s there on his face, in the shadows beneath his eyes.

It’s a subtle sort of anger, but it’s there, visible in the way his mug cracks sometimes or he returns two days later with a fresh cut on his cheek.

Sirius disappears inside himself. He doesn’t talk, not to anyone. He eats when he’s told to and that’s it. He sits naked and trembling in the shower, lets the water run cold, pretends he can’t taste salt. Clutches at himself, knows he can’t hold himself together. Drinks. A lot. All the time. The nightmares aren’t talked about, he doesn’t let them try and help, none of them know how to.

It’s a violent sort of anger, at himself, and it’s quiet, unlike everything else he does, and slowly, it’s killing him.

Lily cries most days. To herself, alone in their room, on the sofa, in the kitchen, in the bathroom. She tries not to slip away, to stay tethered to the world, because she’s needed. Harry, her precious Harry, her son, needs her. So she cries and then wipes away the tears and holds her son close to her and doesn’t let go. She cooks and cleans and ignores the photo albums on the shelves and puts a blanket over Sirius and refills Remus’ mug and never lets Harry out of her sight.

It’s a muted sort of anger, one she tries not to notice, one she doesn’t let corrode her, one that sharpens all her edges.

James holds onto that suggestion and thinks about it every day. His smile fades, locked away in a time that doesn’t exist anymore. When he feels like his heart has dropped from his chest and his lungs have tangled themselves together, he picks Harry up and tells him a story. A story about four boys who thought they owned the world and a red headed girl who knew she owned the world. He doesn’t cry or talk about it or tell anyone what he’s thinking.

It’s not anger at all, it’s mourning, the lonely sort, for a friend who turned out not to be the brother he thought he was.

Harry is confused. He doesn’t understand why Uncle Moony doesn’t tickle him anymore or talk to him with big words which don’t make any sense. He holds his hands up when Uncle Pafoo walks past him but Uncle Pafoo never bends down to pick him up anymore. He misses seeing the world from Uncle Padfoo’s shoulders. Mummy always has salt on her cheeks and it makes him wrinkle his nose when he kisses her on the cheek at night. Daddy’s laugh sounds all wrong and far away like the radio. He doesn’t like it. He misses Uncle Wormy. Uncle Wormy never brings him chocolate now, Uncle Wormy never comes to visit at all.

It’s not anger or mourning at all, it’s confusion, an orphan not because his parents have died but because they’re absent from themselves.

None of them ever bring up the missing piece. They all know about it, recognise it in the fifth chair that sits empty at the table and the half empty packet of crackers in the cupboard. Sometimes one of them will turn to speak to him and then remember. Remember what he did, what happened, that none of them will ever see him again.

It’s a shared agony, one they don’t talk about or face but let fester, burning beneath their bones. He’s still everywhere, no matter how much they try to forget. Mocking James from the front of the map pretending he has any right to be named between Remus and Sirius, laughing at Remus from the mantelpiece where he sits in a frame next to Sirius and waves at the camera, blaming Sirius in distorted dreams which twist from hazy summer days next to the lake to dark rooms where James is bleeding on the floor. 

They try to move on though. To forget and live again. For a while it doesn’t work. There’s too many stains in their minds, on their hearts, their souls. Dead friends, broken promises, forgotten moments. The house they cram themselves into is made of broken glass, every doorway holding a shadow of the past, every mirror reflecting a monster pretending to be normal. 

There are too many memories and reminders and no escape. 

_Let’s get away._

James suggests it. Throws the idea out over dinner one night, breaking the silence that threatens to drown them all. Lily latches onto it. Uses it as the dinner’s saving grace. She doesn’t realise the actuality of it. That James isn’t merely suggesting it; he’s already booked a house, bought a map and four suitcases and decided that the’re going. 

“To the beach?” Sirius repeats, looking disugsted. Probably at the thought of sand everywhere, between his toes, in his sandwiches, his hair. 

James nods and pushes his almost full plate away. “A seasside holiday. Harry’s first trip to the beach.” This is what will convince them he’s sure. It’s most likely considered bad parenting to use your child as a tool to manipulate your friends but, James reason it’s in Harry’s best interest so it’s not too bad. Besides - he knows this will work. All of them put Harry first, he’s why they’re not resting six feet under, and if Harry’s happy, they’re not as sad as usual. 

“I still remember my first time at the beach.” Lily smiles softly, stroking Harry’s fringe back from his face. “Mum and Dad drove us down to Frinton for the day. We had fish and chips and ice cream and -” Harry lunges for the plastic fork Remus is holding midway to his mouth and giggles. Lily’s smile widens. “It was normal.” 

So it’s agreed. They’re going. James tells them he’s already booked everything and Sirius throws an apple at him. Over the next two weeks they all focus on the holiday, using it as a distraction before they’re even on it. Remus and Sirius go out and buy towels and buckets and spades and umbrellas and when Lily sees the receipt she laughs manically and then walks out of the room. James pours over the map, working out the quickest routes everywhere, outlining the route they’ll take, planning stops along the way. Lily packs the suitcases, filling them with clothes and sunscreen and hats and flipflops and knitted jumpers and secret snack stashes. 

Then, suddenly, they’re in the car and driving, Sirius in shotgun and already fighting with James about which cassette to play. Then, suddenly, they’re there and the house is white washed with faded blue shutters and the beach is a few metres from the door step. 

James stands with his arm around Lily’s shoulder as Sirius knocks Remus into the sand and then screams when Remus retaliates by rubbing sand into his hair. Harry screams and giggles, tottering towards the blue water with an eager desperation to touch it. Everyone follows him, Lily and James taking either hand just before he reaches the water and stepping into the wash with him. He screams and jumps and laughs, the excitement tumbling out of him, washing over Lily and James. 

They don’t actually take their suitcases into the house until the sun has set. Staying outside and paddling until Harry’s yawning and rubbing his stomach. There’s sand everywhere, Sirius say it’s a conspiracy that the most is on him. Remus reminds him that it’s because he transformed into Padfoot so harry could chase him and rolled around in the sand for about ten minutes. Sirius pushes him into the sand again. 

The week is languid and warm, full of board games in the evening, swimming during the day, pancakes in the morning. They bury Remus in the sand when he falls asleep reading. Lily and Sirius have a competition to see who can build the biggest sand castle and Sirius claims nepotism when James declares Lily the winner. James laughs, one taken from seventh year before the world darkened, snatching Lily’s breath away with a kiss. They swing Harry between them, his feet brushing the top of the waves, his laugh breaking through the clouds. Sirius tells everyone he’s becoming a professional mermaid and stays in the water so long he turns into a prune. They let themselves forget. They all turn into prunes, fingers and toes wrinkly, hair perpetually smelling of salt, sand everywhere. 

It’s happiness, the possibility of it, the eager hope for it in every smile and laugh and hug. They share it, letting it protect them in the house beside the sea, all of them wondering if perhaps, this is it. The beginning of a world where sadness and betrayal is a secondary thought. 

On the last day they stay out on the beach all night, huddled around a campfire with marshmallows on sticks and blankets over shoulders. Harry falls asleep in Sirius’ lap, drifting to the sound of his family’s happiness. When the stars fade and the sun starts to rise and Remus yawns like he’s trying to swallow the night before it can end, James presses a kiss to Lily’s head. 

He looks from his brothers to his wife to his son and smiles, the giddiness of it all welding itself to his heart. They did it. Lily looks away from the sun rising to the light of her world, taking in his hurricane hair and soft eyes. They did it. 

“We survived.” She murmurs into James’ shoulder, winking at Sirius when he glances at her. 

James nods and tugs her closer, "And now we live.”

It’s a promise.

_One day, we’ll be happy again._


	9. i'll paint the world with you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You see colour once you touch your soulmate. Also modern/muggle au.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on a tumblr prompt.

It’s alright for Sirius, he’s completely happy with the fact that he’ll only ever see the world in black and white. For him, black and white is part of his identity.

Remus is patient, it’s one of his defining qualities, and whenever James brings it up, he just tells him “good things come to those who wait”, so it’s alright for him too. 

Despite them telling him that he’s wrong, Peter is resigned to the fact no one could ever love him, thus meaning he’s resigned to a world of black and white. Technically that’s not alright, but still, he’s okay with it. 

On the other hand, James knows there’s the possibility for him to love someone, has the patience of a hungry baby and has just enough arrogance to steadfastly believe someone could love him in return. So, it’s not alright for him. James _hates_ black and white. He wants to see all the colours his parents have told him about, wants to be able to paint so that the shades actually make sense, can’t stand a depressing world of tonal. 

That’s what he’s stuck with though. 

Even today, when he’s sold a painting, found a penny _and_ stroked two dogs, he’s not completely happy. 

He looks up from the bench he’s sat on in the hopes that dogs will approach him when he hears footsteps and smiles at the woman approaching him. She has no dog with her though so he goes back to reading. When she settles at the other end of the bench he looks up at her again because he can never resist a pretty woman and, shit, he could write poetry about her lips alone. Still, he says nothing and doesn’t look for long because he’s not a creep and she looks like she just wants to read her own book and not be disturbed. 

“Sorry, um,” his head snaps up so quickly at her voice he twinges his neck, “are you reading The Little Sister?” 

James clears his throat. “Yeah, yeah I am. Do you-”

“I love Marlowe.” She raises her own book and he sees the the old cover for The High Window. He grins. 

“Sherlock’s got nothing on Marlowe, in my opinion.”

“Anyone who shares that opinion is someone I want to know.” She holds her hand out, “I’m Lily.”

He rests his book on the bench and leans over to take her hand. “James Potter.” They shake hands and suddenly Lily’s back straightens and she’s staring at him like he’s just pulled a rabbit out of a hat. For her, it happens immediately. Everywhere, everything. For James, it’s slow. Starts at her fingers and then spreads. 

He blinks. Blinks again. And then he’s on his feet, staring at her, at Lily who’s not in black and white. Whose hair is the same colour as the leaves on the floor around them and whose eyes are the same colour as the grass and who _isn’t black and white_. Then he’s grinning and suddenly they’re hugging and he can’t stop laughing because _the world is in colour_ and… it’s Lily. Lily is his soulmate. And all he knows about her is her name and that she rates Raymond Chandler. 

“It’s you.” She smiles at the time he says, 

“You’ve given me the world.”


	10. We'll Meet Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “hey how are you doing it’s been a while hasn’t it. yeah i guess i’m good but nothing’s really been the same since the accident. i started talking to myself a lot lately and waiting for responses because i’ve been so used to you being there but now you’re dead and oh look i’m crying over your grave.” au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Ali. Thank you for the messages in my inbox which never fail to make me smile. Thank you for the detailed headcanons and character interpretations which open my eyes. Thank for always being there for me. Thank you for the galaxy in your hair. Thank you for being brilliant and writing beautifully.

**31st October 1982**

“Alright, Evans?” James smiles slightly, letting the words tug up one corner of his lip in her favourite smile. “I’ve been okay lately. Not great, for obvious reasons, but not too bad. I’ve still got a roof over my head. Food on ou- the table. Lots of jumpers to keep me warm when Sirius forgets to turn the central heating up… Sirius is around a lot. So is Remus. Who am I kidding - they live with me. The war’s over now - so no more hiding. Sometimes I can’t tell if it’s a blessing or a curse.” The laugh falls out, low and rickety, and it feels like it doesn’t belong. “Last week we had everyone over. Even Minnie came. It was like being back at Hogwarts, except Minnie was drinking firewhiskey instead of her morning pumpkin juice.”

Here, he pauses. Looks up to the blue sky stretching above them. Remembers the way the house had seemed full for the first time since they went into hiding. How he’d seen Remus and Sirius laughing together, properly, clutching onto each other’s shoulders for the support the way they used to at school. Minnie had spent the entire evening with Bathilda, heads bent together like old friends. She’d played with Harry too, transfigured their best china into stuffed toys that moved and made noises, bounced him on her knee. James was pretty sure she’d seen him plant a kiss on his forehead at one point. That could’ve been the amount of firewhiskey he’d drunk that night talking though. “Sirius was jealous of all the attention Harry got. Little bugger loved it, didn’t cry the entire night.  If it takes a party for him to behave I might have one every day.”

Again, he pauses, takes a breath, and looks back down. Away from the wide sky spread with wispy clouds and to the ground. To the grave. “He misses you.” The tears press at his eyes. “Asks where his Mummy is. I don’t - I think he knows you’re not coming back. It’s difficult to explain. There was a book in a muggle shop I saw. How To Explain Death To Your Child. That title for a fiver. I didn’t buy it. Got him the new Thomas the Tank Engine story instead. Walked in on Remus reading it to him last night. The voices he does - I think you’ve got competition, love.” James shakes his head and blinks furiously, trying not to think of Harry curled up between them on their bed, Lily pulling faces and changing her voice for all these characters, making Harry laugh, making him laugh. It doesn’t work and the burning in his eyes breaks, the first tear rolling down his cheek as if it has a right to be there, reminding him what he’s lost.

Finally he puts a hand out, runs it across the top of the white marble. It’s cool and wet from the rain that morning. James sniffs unceremoniously, wiping at his nose before crouching down. “I miss you. I look for you everywhere. I see you everywhere. I even hear you.” He laughs again, fractured notes tumbling from his throat. “I keep waiting for you to reply to me. I roll over in the morning and reach for you and then remember you’re not there. I-I-I ask an empty kitchen for the answer to five across. I sing a duet and wait for you to sing the next line, not really in tune but not minding. You’ve always been there and now you’re not and… still. You’re everywhere Evans.” James grips the stone, his knuckles turning white, and stares at the engraving. 

 _Lily Evans_.

“You said once in fifth year that if you ever- if you ever died, you’d come back and haunt me.” He offers her another crooked smile. “I guess you were right.”

                        _Lily Potter (née Evans)_

_30th January 1960 - 31st October 1981_

_Loving friend, daughter, sister, wife and mother_

_Never truly gone from our hearts_

He’s not sure who decided on the message. He’s not sure who even planned the funeral. All he can remember from that day are flashes. The flowers and cards and candles and messages waiting for him outside the house in the morning, left by witches and wizards who no longer had to worry about Lord Voldemort thanks to his wife. The priest who had married them, looking no different from the last time James had seen him. Sirius gripping his hand, Remus pressing his shoulder against his, his brothers holding him up as they tried to keep themselves together. Harry…

Harry who didn’t understand what was happening and wouldn’t stop crying. Harry who asked for his Mummy and wouldn’t let anyone hold him but James. The coffin, lowered without magic, brown and smooth and wrong. Petunia at the back of the crowd, a few steps away from anyone else, looking like someone had stolen the air from her lungs… a sister wondering if she was still a sister or if death took that privilege away. The speeches people gave, a blur of words and tears and struggling smiles, the final words spoken by Remus. The only one of them who could talk without his voice breaking. The people leaving, hugging James and wishing him well and not realising that he’s not listening to them.

“I wish you weren’t haunting me though.” James leans forwards and rests his head against the marble. The cold flooding through him and cracking his bones. “I wish you were still here. Next to me. Screaming at me because I did something dumb and stupid and reckless. Laughing at me, singing off key in the shower, painting Sirius’ nails and plaiting his hair, doing the crossword before me, rearranging the flowers in the vase a million times, putting your hair up with your wand, forgetting the milk and making me go get it because you’re cold and fed up of the man behind the counter starting at your tits. Falling asleep with your head in my lap, reading to me, dancing around to muggle bands I’ve never heard of and spinning Harry around the room. Dancing with me at three in the morning when Harry’s asleep and we’re alone and we’re tired but it doesn’t matter because we’re alive. I want you back. It’s not fair, it’s not fair, it’s not fair.” His voice breaks a second time and he chokes on the tears falling down his cheeks, letting them splash onto the bouquet of pink camellias, striped carnations, and primroses he’d laid down when he first arrived.

“I wish you were here with m-me. Not under me in the ground, dead. I miss you. I-I don’t know if I can d-do this for much longer, Evans. It hurts.” He presses his face into the marble now, wetting the stone and allowing the engraving to scratch at his cheeks. “It’s been a year and I still miss you everyday. I can’t go a minute without thinking about you. You and your brilliant mouth and your hair and your eyes… I can’t remember what they looked like when you laughed. I’m forgetting and I don’t want to and… I need you. I still love you.” James forces his eyes open. He stares at her name, the tears blurring the letters together. “I love you, Lily. I don’t know if you can hear me or not. I miss you and I love you and I can’t- I can’t wait to see you again.”

For a moment he can’t breathe. He sucks in air but it feels like he’s choking, drowning suddenly in everything that’s happened. He clutches at the gravestone, at the image of Lily, his Lily. Then - a hand grasps his shoulder, steadying him.

James lets himself think it’s her. For a moment. Imagines opening his eyes and looking up and seeing her standing behind him, smiling down at him and asking him why in Merlin’s name is he crying. She’d call him a daft prat and kiss him on the nose. It’s not her. Of course it’s not there. He will never feel her touch him again. It’s Sirius’ hand, holding onto him until he can breathe and open his eyes and stand up. Sirius who lost a sister the same night James lost his wife.

“Remus noticed you left.” Sirius says, still holding his shoulder. “He’s with Harry in the park down the road.” He waits for James to wipe at his eyes. “You don’t have to do this alone. You might think you do but you’re wrong and, let’s face it mate, I’m usually right aren’t I?”

“I just wanted to talk to her for a minute.”

“I know. Just let us know so we don’t think you’re off doing something stupid. Especially without us, Remus and I don’t want to miss any of the fun.” He squeezes James shoulder and without a word, pulls him close. James buries his face in Sirius’ cloak and the tears start again. Sirius doesn’t say anything. They grip at each other like they’re the only things keeping each other alive and in a way, that’s what they are doing.

“I miss her.” James murmurs and then steps back, dragging his hands down his face, knocking his glasses askew, and shaking his head. “It hasn’t gotten any easier.” Without realising it his hand falls back onto the gravestone, the way his hand used to find her softer, smaller one beneath the the table at Order meetings, at night when she said he was a bloody furnace and she was just too hot, lounging on the grounds by the lake at Hogwarts when they were meant to be doing homework, over breakfast when she was falling asleep in her porridge. Just like she never let him go, it doesn’t let him fall.

“One day it will be easier. We’ve just got to wait and we’ll get there.”

James snorts. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“When have I ever lost a bet, Prongs?” Sirius winks and James shakes his head, rolling his eyes because the list of bets Sirius has lost is too long for even him to remember. But the heaviness on his shoulders has gone, the weight jarring his heart has faded slightly and the tears have stopped. He smiles at Sirius and, as ever, Sirius understands. A few more minutes, please.

Later they’ll all come back together. Harry holding James’ hand with a trembling lip and a crushed bouquet of daisies in his fist. Sirius and Remus holding each other’s hands, Remus grabbing onto James’ before they reach the grave. They’ll hold each other as Harry places the daisies and mumbles words to the mother he’s not sure he remembers and then runs to wrap himself around his father’s leg, afraid of the tears on Uncle Moony’s face and the blank look in Uncle Padfoo’s eye and his surname on the gravestone. For now though, James needs to be alone.

“We’ll be in the park down the road.” Sirius nods, grips James’ arm one more time and then turns and disappears out of the graveyard.

Once more James turns and crouches down in front of the grave, running his fingertips across her name. He doesn’t speak or say anything more, just allows himself to float in memories of her, his Lily. When he feels the burn of tears and the block in his throat return he presses a gentle kiss to the marble and then rises. I love you. He smiles at her name, at the figure he sees standing behind the gravestone who has red hair and green eyes and a smile that lights up the world, and then turns and follows the path to the gate. 

**4th November 2062**

The graveyard has grown since he visited as a child. Expanded up the hill and across towards the hedgerows which guard it. As a child he’d never understood why his mother was buried not quite in the graveyard and yet not quite outside of it either. Tucked away in the top corner, half hidden by a willow tree, was their plot. The Potter Plot as the muggles in the village called it. There was no magic concealing it and yet no other graves had been dug nearby, not even close. No one had ever explained it to him - his dad had just ruffled his hair and said there was a way to get out of every tricky situation if you looked hard enough.

No one had ever explained it to him why exactly it was in this village his mother was buried. No one knew themselves to be able to. Nestled in the countryside there was not a single witch or wizard who lived in one of the thirty houses. There was no connection to the Potter’s or the Evans’ or anyone they knew at all. Harry thought it best said by Sirius, _“Your Mum was told by a lot of people that she had dirty blood. That she belonged in a different world to them. So, here rests the body of one of the brightest witches to ever live. One last middle finger from Lily Evans to the Wizarding World.”_

The walk from the gate to the plot feels longer today. Harry owes it to the weight bearing down on his left shoulder. The coffin is long and brown and smooth and makes it impossible not to think about his father’s body lying cold and stiff in there. James is next to him, lips set in a line of grim determination. Behind them are Albus and Lily and behind them are James’ eldest boys, as black haired and crooked grinned as their great-grandfather. Someone, Hermione probably, has definitely placed a spell on the coffin to make it lighter, so by the time they reach the grave and the priest waves his wand to lift it off their shoulders and levitate it to the grave, Harry is barely out of breath.

He is eighty two years old and carrying his father’s coffin, and the complete absurdity of it almost makes him smile. Harry is sure that his Dad would’ve wanted him to smile today of all days. Even funerals couldn’t get his Dad down. _“Funerals are for celebrating their life, not mourning their death. I should know - I’ve been to enough funerals.”_ He always used to say, with his trademark wink, and sometimes a ruffle of Harry’s hair. Harry thinks it’s because James regretted not celebrating Lily’s life at her funeral.

It was McGonagall who told him about it, eyes focused on something Harry couldn’t see, on Lily’s birthday years ago. Recounted the funeral and left out nothing because she knew that Harry had had enough of lies and, besides, McGonagall felt he deserved the truth. It was his Mother after all. After she had told him he had lain awake that night thinking about his Dad, suddenly missing his other half. Imagined Petunia’s face and the people giving speeches… Thought about himself, clinging on to his father and crying for a mother he didn’t know he’d lost.

Today was a different day. Before he had died James had spoken to Harry about it. Told him he didn’t want tears and silence but noise and smiles and a party. _“If I’m going out, it’s going to be with a bang.”_ Easier said than done, Harry thinks. But he had known this was coming, they had prepared for it, they had said goodbye. And James had been ready for it. Wanted it even.

Now he had lived for so long, seen all of his children and grand-children grow up, had his friends by his side every step of the way, seen the world, done what he wanted to do, never hid another for another day, James didn’t want to stay any longer. The world was safe again, had been a for a long time, his son was happy, he’d lived the life his parents had wanted him to, he’d lived the life Lily would have wanted him to. James had been ready for it. Ready to see Lily again.

When Remus died in his sleep three weeks ago, Harry knew it was coming. Tonks had hugged him at the funeral, whispered it in his ear. Everyone knew it was coming. Sirius and James had died together, probably through force of will, neither of them having any desire to live in a world without the other, even for a minute. They were even holding hands. _“Brothers born of something much more powerful than blood.”_ He heard McGonagall say once.

That night Ginny had held him as he sobbed, his chest aching for just one more moment with his Dad and his Godfather. One last hug. Really though, he had known the last time he saw them. It had been in their eyes. In their voices as Sirius hugged him and James kissed his forehead and thanked him, for what he wouldn’t say.

Yesterday, on his birthday, they buried Sirius. Laying him to rest next to the headstone for Regulus they had made when they found out the truth. Harry looks at the four headstones, all in a row, a line of soldiers and mothers and brothers and children and friends. Together in death as they had been in life. Harry reads the inscriptions, the engraved words next to Lily’s name brand new. Where there had once been empty marble, waiting for her husband, there is now his name.

_James Fleamont Potter_

_(Prongs)_

_27th March 1960 - 31st October 2062_

_Loving son, brother, husband and father_

_Always bringing laughter to the world_

And beneath it all, two words that Harry knows are the reason why James had never fallen in love again and why he had been so happy to die in the knowledge his family, the family he had watched grow and grow, were safe and happy.

_Together again._


End file.
